Gnossienne
by Bombing
Summary: AU of Maplestory. Contains Legend's story-lines spoilers and attempts to make sense of Maple World's wacky timeline. Edit (8-6-2013): Future of story is currently unknown because of Maplestory's latest story updates.
1. Prologue: That world is gone

**Prologue**

**That world is gone**

Mercedes doesn't expect for Phantom to come second. She expects anyone but Phantom to arrive second, seeing that the thief liked to come fashionably late, a common excuse for his slothfulness, that young brat. Perhaps a hundred years in ice has changed him, has naturally changed the others as well, and Mercedes balls her fists at the notion because, again, it's not fair. Then he approaches Mercedes with a warm, yellow rose, and says," It is said that beauties are sleepyheads, hence the expression 'sleeping beauty'."

"…so why did you sleep so long when you're not that beautiful anyway?"

Delightfully surprised, Mercedes wants to laugh, but the queen of elves has just been insulted and that wouldn't be appropriate. So she gasps," Rampallion! Dare offend so soon after heavenly stars kiss thy spheres open?" Appearing affronted, she strikes at the chuckling thief, her hand meeting the sun petals of the fallen rose, the nimble man already stepping away.

"Would you rather have me flatter you?" Phantom asks, amethyst eyes twinkling in amusement. He continues in an overly affected voice as if he's on a stage – like always. "Oh Mercedes - how I missed your inability to take a joke! Your unladylike temper! Your need to– "

"Peace! Break thee off!" The queen snaps, but she's so relieved and thank the Great Spirit, this is exactly what she has needed after a month of lying on her bed, eyes at the sky wondering. "Reveal thyself, damned cur. Where art thou during the dismal conflict against the corrupted light?"

Humming loudly, Phantom acts he's in deep thought making a decision. A nonsensical show for truly what is the reason to hide? "The battle against the Black Mage?" A lazy roll of the shoulders. "I was doing something very important, very heroic, and very, _very_ secretive. Sorry, can't tell you." And the evasive master thief hides once again. Tease.

Mercedes does not roll her eyes. No elf, less alone the elf queen, would do such a human gesture. Exasperated, she says, "Go thou and fill another room with hell." Pity for she is still so curious.

But it's a useless endeavor to chip the thief apart, as time proves over and over again, and Mercedes retreats for now. Matters not, for the enigmatic thief was not one to divulge anything. If he still retains that particularly irritating trait, let it be. It makes it easier to handle this.

Surprisingly though, the heroic scoundrel does not retort. With a cheeky smile, Phantom walks to a nearby tree and lies against the stout trunk wordlessly, the quiet, rare obedience capturing her attention than any noise would. The man seems to be filled with musings – is he anxious to meet the others again?

Possibly. He didn't make a late, dramatic reintroduction like she thought he would – though this being an arrangement purely for the heroes, he may not have even bothered. It has been a couple of centuries and lo, a perfect question to break the insufferable silence.

Mercedes starts accordingly," Doth thou recall the numbered time we slumbered?"

"Still speaking the 'ye olde language', huh?" Phantom asks offhandedly, shrugging. "I wasn't exactly focusing on what time it was back then. Had my hands full if you know what I'm saying."

"The year, Phantom," Mercedes corrects, switching to the vernacular, though her voice tinged with the accent. The manner of speaking today is too unrefined and distasteful for her taste as it was centuries ago, but that doesn't mean she _doesn't_ know how to speak like a peasant. "I have no expectations of you keeping eye of the hourglass before we slumbered."

Phantom smiles wryly, thinking. What he'll say next is the truth.

The thief says, "Unfortunately I don't know that either." Bowing his head, expression in concentration, the queen can see the ages there. "Actually. No one seems to know the year when the Black Mage was sealed. Guess the seal was that well done."

'Tis strange. "Speak to me."

"The seal…the seal was so powerful that no one can turn back time previous from that point, correct?" A frustrated sigh. "Well, my theory is that it was so damn powerful that it probably wiped out the exact year from nearly everyone in Maple World's minds just for extra security. I've caught word that since then, a few centuries has passed. Except, no one seems to remember how many centuries it was either. But it still doesn't make sense..."

Surprise, surprise, the thief is willing to allow so much and is still continuing. More talking to himself than to Mercedes now though, murmuring lowly, but Mercedes have stopped following him since he mentioned 'Freud.' Strong red shoulders gathering dust in a study. Soft, sophisticated words radiating absolute intelligence and, sometimes, decorated in poetry. Sharp, emerald eyes alight, days of meticulous research paying off. A gentle laugh, comforting no matter how dark the times were.

_Dearest dove, thou and Afrien hast bear plenty sufferings in mine final lids. Make haste and tame the uneasy windy suspiration of forced breath._

Shaking off the memories, Mercedes watches the entrance, arms crossed, fingers tapping against her arms impatiently. It is useless to worry after so long. Afrien claimed that Freud received the curse for the King of the Onyx Dragons, did he not? Therefore Freud's predicament must be the same as Mercedes's and Phantom's. Freud shall arrive as Aran and Luminous shall, since he's the unofficial leader and it's unlike him to avoid the opportunity to discuss the future plans with the other "Legends".

Legends. That's what the few call them.

The world has changed so much while she has been frozen and it still stuns Mercedes to see the Cygnus Knights – an enormous organization that the young, frail empress created. They stroll about in Ereve, training and gathering information, and Mercedes have seen more than a few of their higher-ranking officers passing Ellinia. In this new world, technology, news, and events travel in speeds unimaginable during Mercedes' time. Only two weeks ago Mercedes attended the Maple Alliance Union where Commander Hilla interrupted the Conference before the Alliance came together; thank the Great Spirit, Phantom interfered just in time. Tedious protocols humans have, requiring pesky trinkets and bloodlines to acknowledge royalty. Usually inactivity follow such an incident, and yet merely days afterward, Mercedes was soon engaged in a conversation with Neinheart through a series of letters. The Maple Mailbox is astoundingly fast.

_I apologize, Queen Mercedes._ The last mail read._ I have received confirmation from Athena Pierce and Shinsoo that you are who you claim you are. As you wish, I will attempt to search for the other "Legends" and arrange a meeting._

_However, I cannot guarantee that I will be successful. _

But it seems he is. Yesterday, Neinheart invited the queen to come to Ereve and wait at this spot. The message was concise yet vague, but the man with the blue mane stated that he will explain all once he arrives. Mercedes trusts Neinheart, for finding Phantom's Crystal Garden – if Phantom still has the stolen raid ship from centuries ago – is a feat to be admired. Locating the other heroes must be nothing compare to locating the master thief.

Still, leave it to these short-lived humans to remember so little of the Black Mage and the heroes! Unjust and insolent, how dare the world forget the heroes, their sacrifices, and change so much in so little time while the elves were doomed to sleep, the blasted earth continuing without them for a couple of centuries. A century is barely anything!

_What a mockery to the proud race of elves._

Forcing herself to calm, Mercedes gazes at the delicate, blossoming white flowers that grow in the well tended gardens. Elder Astilda would scold her, albeit gently, for allowing her temper to best her. At least Ereve's famous raindrop flowers have not changed and the queen finds comfort in them. Swaying, full headed trees line away from Empress Road and the Ereve Conference Pavilion to surround the pavilion's outdoor lobby, which may soon be cleared for more space. Mercedes already see the beginnings of the new Ereve Conference Room – one that will suit for the MAU representatives instead of the overwhelming pavilion. The unfinished elegant pearl bars rooted around the solitary table rise partly to the air, forming an illusory dome like shape.

Empress Aria has chosen a diligent successor. Mercedes will not fall behind.

Yet she feels herself nodding off, the soft sunrays and the sweet, scented wind tempting her to sit on a chair and nap. Only Phantom's soft chuckles halt Mercedes from falling where she stands, resolute to not give the thief his amusement. Clearly she has not had proper rest since her curse broke. Learning the new organizations and the major events passed during in Elluel's slumber was no slight task, and heavy decision-making plagued her mind day and night. Hopefully all will pass with a little more time; after all she's the Queen of Elves. She always gets things done.

The sound of crunching grass reach pointed ears

A set of footsteps followed closely by the clinking of loose metal accessories and the stretching of leather hide. Waves of blue hair kept neatly under a hat, drifting behind a small human girl adorned in a long, fur edged coat over a traditional female dress of the Rien Clan. Large grey eyes hop from Mercedes to Phantom and the little girl clears her throat, bowing politely. "Good afternoon heroes, it is an honor to finally meet you."

Strange that she wears such heavy clothing. Rien Island not only has plenty of rich farmland, but it is a warm island in the west, merely south of Victoria Island. Perhaps not so strange, Ereve certainly much cooler than Rien, and Mercedes nods to the human girl. "Greetings, child. And you are?"

"Lilin, Neinheart's little sister," she responds and Mercedes see the resemblance between her and the tactician.

"I have not realized that Neinheart is of the Rien." Truly, the few times Mercedes has met Neinheart, he neither speaks with an accent nor dress as such.

"That's because he's not. I'm his _half_ little sister," Lilin elaborates. "I'm one of the last members so the island accepts me. Neinheart on the other hand...well, the penguins don't like him that much."

Mercedes giggles. "Is that so? Little Lilin," and the queen can see a twitch in the grey eye - endearing -, "state your purpose."

"I came to to escort Aran to Ereve. She's not here with me right now since she's meeting with Empress Cygnus first."

"Aran!" Mercedes exclaims happily, her excitement reigniting. Aran's a simpleminded, battle hungry and oh-so human –a flaw the sad species inevitably shares -, she was the only other female among the Heroes and Mercedes cannot wait to nitpick at her outdated fashion; an old fun Mercedes loved to play.

"You have a mischievous face on, Mercedes," Phantom says, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "Just don't rile Aran too much. Every time the both of you have a cat fight, there's always a giant hole and the locals get furious_._ Normally I wouldn't mind, but this is Ereve after all."

"Our 'cat' fights are friendly and safe!" Mercedes cries. "Nothing like yours and Luminous's! Always lunging at each other's necks like wild hounds!"

"Friendly and safe? Do you recall that one time in El Nath you guys had a 'friendly and safe' fight and you both broke the mountain pathway to the mines?" Phantom asks flatly, picking off absent lint from his pristine, white sleeves. "If Afrien didn't offer us a ride, we would have waited for weeks for the construction workers to finish the bridge."

"No one was injured!" Mercedes huffs. Yes, yes, it was quite childish of them and the villagers of El Nath were angry but the pathway would have broken eventually with or without their spar.

"Excuse me…" the little human girl speaks but Phantom continues over her.

"You both decimated three fourths the population of the werewolves and lycanthropes."

"Um, excuse me…?"

"They're monsters! And I'm sure since then they have recovered their numbers."

"Speaking of monsters, let's not forget the monster hunt in Ariant," Phantom proclaims, striking a finger to emphasize the point. "That was a _fine_ crater you both made."

"Wait, the Crater Oasis south of the Pyramid Dunes came from you and Aran? Whoa, she was that strong…" Lilin murmurs aside of the conversation between the two heroes. "No – I have to tell you something about Aran's condition. She can't - "

"An oasis?" Mercedes captures, ignoring the rest of Lilin's words, to which the little girl groans. "Then we have done more good than wrong with our play!"

Phantom doesn't respond. Instead, he tilts his head to the side before splashing on the trademark smirk back to Mercedes," Guess who arrived?"

Mercedes turns, a familiar tanned woman raising a hand to greet the company, snow-white hair bundled in a surprisingly smooth ponytail – must have had help, likely Lilin, obviously –, and dramatically sighs. Those knee guards. The dull, solid colors. And where, oh _where_, did she find that dreadful fur cape – Rien is a hot place! And Mercedes refuses, to this day, to believe that garterbelts are part of the traditional female warrior garb of any respectable clan, and so it _must_ be Aran's depressing awareness of style that she persists to wear it even today. Thank the Great Spirit that Aran actually has the body type to pull off the revealing outfit anyways, but one day, when Mercedes isn't too busy, she needs to take the pole-arm user out to buy proper wardrobe fit for a warrior leader. Mercedes have heard of these "shopping malls" that can offer a great variety of clothing and surely one of them must have _something_ for someone as hopeless as Aran.

Mercedes raises her chin, a deliberate provocation except Aran's face is unchanging and what a bore, if she's not raising her chin to gain height against Mercedes? So Mercedes drops the "Royal Bitch" act as Phantom once titled long ago, and instead walks over to the pole-arm user. With a half-hearted glare, scolding prepared," Aran! Hast thou -"

No, after such a long time Mercedes should at least speak "normal" – Aran never understood Mercedes when the queen spoke "fancy". "Where were you after all this time? I believe I have taken a glimpse of thou at the first Conference Meeting not so long ago! Why did you not stay to speak to me?"

Aran doesn't respond, looking away and the action startles Mercedes. Lilin holds out a hand before Mercedes approach any closer, like a bodyguard, with a somber expression. She gestures towards Mercedes and Phantom back to Aran. "Aran, this is Mercedes, the Queen of Elves, and Phantom, the 'greatest thief' in Maple World. You saw them at the conference meeting. They fought the Black Mage with you."

"Oh, really? Sorry."

It's a hushed, polite apology, bordering shy that whips both Mercedes and Phantoms' heads to the pole-arm user, attentions refocused. Finally, Mercedes notices a few differences between the current Aran and the old Aran. This Aran does not raise her head high. This Aran does not brazenly announce her arrival. This Aran looks at Mercedes with tranquil, ice blue eyes, not eyes of mirth. But most importantly…

"…Where is Maha?" Phantom asks the obvious question, slightly tense. A flinch. The grasp on the polearm, simpler and smaller than the ferocious Maha, tightens in response. A flash of pale blonde, Mercedes gently pushes Lilin to the side, already in front of tanned woman, a crossbow floating just a hair's width from the heart.

Mercedes snarls, "_Who are you_?"

She backs away instantly. "I don't understand," the woman begins, glancing at Phantom behind of Mercedes for help and that's another mistake this doppelganger has done. The real Aran is bold, independent, and whoever this stranger is – a monster, or worse, a Black Mage minion in disguise – has not done her research." What are you – "

"Wicked chameleon! Thou carries thyself deny the true hero! Shed thy skin, dastardly viper, and brave destruction with piece of dignity, foe!" Mercedes is raising both crossbows to the stranger's neck now. "Hast thou locked the true Aran in alien soil? Yield or receive punishment!"

"She's Aran!" the Rien girl insists, stepping in front of the pole-arm user to face the ominous mana arrows unhesitatingly. "Please listen, she has -!"

"Art thou an ally of the Black Mage as well, small human?" Mercedes demands, clear blue eyes sharpen in chilling fury. "Lions praise thy hybrid's proud blood to test me!"

A whirl of cards. Phantom's gloved hand presses down a crossbow, eyes flickering in irritation. "Stop making wild conclusions Mercedes and calm down! Let the girl speak!"

Lilin bursts. "She has amnesia! She doesn't remember anything." Nervous, breathing hard, she continues shakily," She lost all of her memories when she woke up - she doesn't remember her past, the fight, or the other heroes."

* * *

The man is clearly rattled, eyes large in shock, staring at Aran and Lilin. Aran doesn't know him, doesn't know anything about Mercedes, but the way they look at her, as if she betrayed them by forgetting, tightens her chest that isn't purely from guilt. Can she feel guilty for something she couldn't control?

"Amnesia?" Mercedes gasps, her crossbows lying by her sides uselessly. "But, I merely have become weak once I awoken…I still remember everything as if it was all yesterday!"

A pang of envy. How comforting and secure it must be, to know one's identity so well.

"I was the same," Aran says calmly. Mercedes flinches and even speaking feels like a mistake, but Aran doesn't know – _and, really, what do I know?_ – what else she can do. "I also lost my previous strength so I can't carry Maha. Everyday Maha yells as me to become stronger to wield him." And he does, that whiny spirit of a pole-arm.

"How much do you remember?" Phantom takes over the rein of the conversation. Mercedes's green eyes are foggy, as if she's still processing, too stunned to say a word. Aran tries not to look at her too much.

"I…I remember Maha and how I got him," Aran answers, fingers twitching instinctively on her current pole arm: a stick with a stone head compare to Maha - a beautiful weapon adorned in rare red jades. "And I remember a few of my skills and I learn more every day. But I don't remember anything else…"

"That's it? I find it hard to believe that an incidental bump on the head is enough for you to forget _everything_," says Phantom, voice skeptical. "You were a warrior. Getting hit on the head was your _hobby_, next to hitting other people's heads for that matter. And I was stuck in an icecube for a hundreds of years and I still remember how to infiltrate the Knight's Chambers in a thousand different methods."

So she loved fighting that much? Aran doesn't wholly disagree; fighting feels natural, a part of her soul, but she doesn't feel the same thrill as some other warriors seem to have back in Victoria Island. They laugh victoriously after every battle won, unlike Aran. What is she missing?

Next to her, Lilin nods."I agree. According to the Book of Prophecies – "

"Book of Prophecies? A tome of such exists?" Mercedes cuts in abruptly that it catches Aran off-guard.

"It doesn't say much." Lilin says shaking her head dismissively. "All it says is that long time ago, the Black Mage existed and terrorized Maple World. Five heroes sealed him, but not without being cursed. But the curse wasn't supposed to make the heroes lose their memories," Lilin explains. "My guess is that Aran woke up much earlier than the both of you. I think that minor difference changed everything."

But Aran doesn't know that for sure and this anxiety of doubting everything she has learned, has yet to learn, eats her. Is there a purpose for her to awaken so early?

The elfin queen paces, face in deep concentration. "I was free from the curse a little over a month ago. What of thou?"

Automatically answering because she counted. "One hundred and forty six days." Five months. Five months of twisting in bed sheets, wondering if her dreams and nightmares were bits of memories or just that: dreams. And Mercedes darting her eyes away flashes a low anger inside Aran. Does she pity her?

Finally the elf queen bows her head, her bangs hiding her eyes. "I – I see. It must have been hard, for so long without…" So it is pity, but Aran has a feeling that the elf queen seems to be more upset at something else. The voice doesn't seem to be targeting at the warrior at all.

The pole-arm user shakes her head. "It's fine. I'm sorry that I can't remember." But not all hope is lost and she speaks again in a lighter lilt. "But now that I know your name, I can remember more. I will remember you the next time we meet."

"How?"

"The same way I remembered Maha," answers the warrior. "There is a magical object back in Rien call the 'Mirror of Desires' that helps me remember what I want to remember. Now that I know who you are, I can _desire_ remembering more of you and I will see my memories play out in the reflection."

Phantom taps his hat, the dark beak pointing low over his face. "Well, I hope so. I'm already feeling quite…touchy with the fact that the whole world has forgotten me. Looks like I'll have to sneak into a few houses tonight to feel more of myself again."

The guilt pounds in heavier with that statement. "I'm sorry."

Mercedes bites out viciously. "Halt your meaningless regrets!" and Aran restrains from jumping. The queen stops before sighing tiredly. A tinge of regret, and Aran bites her lower lip, withdrawing like an ordinary woman and it feels like stepping on broken shards when talking to Mercedes. Phantom either has a cool expression or a solemn one and Aran doesn't know how to interpret, or feel, about either one. But Mercedes's emotions are open and every single one seems to yell at Aran, unforgiving. Were they truly that close? "It cannot be helped, and thus you have nothing to apologize. If what you claim is true, the next time we meet, you will most likely strike me with the end of your pole arm."

Aran tries to smile, but it feels like a grimace. A tug on her cape, and she looks down to see Lilin's solemn grey eyes. "Aran, we need to ask them…"

Aran nods, a hand patting Lilin's shoulder. Lilin seems to understand that Aran does not wish to do the questioning and looks back to the heroes for her. "Can you answer a few questions? It will help us a lot if you do…"

Mercedes and Phantom glance at each other and look back at Lilin, nodding.

"Well…do you know what the Seal Stones do by any chance?" Lilin begins. "A Black Wings minion tried to take the Seal Stone from Tru, a friend of ours, so we think it's part of a large scheme. But we don't know what the Seal Stone does."

"The Seal Stones?" Phantom repeats, wrinkling his nose. "Why would the Black Wings try to fetch such useless artifacts?"

Lilin perks and Aran can feel her hopes stirring. Finally, answers after seemingly never-ending questions! "You know what they do?"

The master thief nods. "I do, and I wouldn't be concerned with them if I were you. As long as the Black Mage is locked away, the Seal Stones' purposes are obsolete."

"What _are_ their purposes? Neinheart and Tru don't know what they do - you're probably the only one who can tell us!" Lilin exclaims and it's true. Even after Neinheart was convinced that Lilin wasn't fooling around with myths and stories, he still couldn't provide an answer what the seal stones were for. Lilin had a fit for the entire day.

Phantom raises an eyebrow. "They have the ability to turn back time, but that doesn't destroy anything. It was a safety net just in case we couldn't stop the Black Mage with the actual seal. And not a very good one at that…"

"Wait," Lilin says and Aran can see the cogs turning. "If they can turn back time, then they can turn back time before the Black Mage was sealed!" Lilin cries.

But Mercedes shakes her head, tossing the claim out the window. "The seal we have used…Dragon Master Freud and Afrien, the King of the Onyx Dragons, and Rhinne, the Goddess of Time...three of the most powerful individuals I know combined their efforts to create a seal so powerful that _no one_ can turn back time previous from that point. Also, all Seal Stones must be gathered to carry out their intents. All is useless without one."

A relief. Lilin pumps a fist in the air, resolved. "I see. Well, whatever the Black Wings are planning, they can't do it! We have the Seal Stone of Victoria Island in Rien and it's probably the safest place in the world right now."

Phantom quirks an eyebrow, interested. "Oh really? That's nice..." Except the way he speaks isn't one of doubting Rien's security. Aran has a gut feeling of what the man plans to do. She jots the thought down, making sure she contacts Phantom – if it is possible – if the seal stone happens to vanish sometime soon.

Lilin glances up to Aran for silent permission before looking back to the thief and archer. "Alright, now the second question: why were you all forgotten?"

A quiet falls over them, and Aran wonders if it is a bad idea to ask after all. However, Phantom merely turns away, expression hidden as his noble cape swishes behind him. "That's what I'm trying to find out." Irritated. At least Aran is not the only one to be so. "I'm not the only one who's noticed that there aren't any records of my heroics, yes?" He looks at Aran now to which she nods slowly. "Exactly! Any information relevant to the Black Mage is gone. Not even the damn _year_ when he was sealed."

The master thief throws his hands in the air. "I'm surprised that you –" waving towards Lilin's form abstractedly –"even know who we are. I didn't even need to _bribe_ the government to buy a new private ship because my criminal records suddenly vanished!"

He pauses, his countenance slowly transforming into horror. "I just realized my list of accomplishments is _gone_. Now I have to make a _new_ one."

The archer queen scoffs. "How like you to be concerned with your feats. Hast thou replaced the Crystal Garden then?"

"The old girl was flooded when I woke up. She wouldn't fly," Phantom grumbles, akin to Maha when the spirit is in his moods. "But that's not the point Queen Scatterbrain. My intelligence team found out that the story of the "Legends" and the Black Mage is, at best, a bedtime tale. And even _that_ is fading away."

"Well... "Lilin says, playing with her blue hair, fidgeting under the master thief's rant. "If it makes you feel better, the Rien Clan knows who you are. We've got a list of every feat and accomplishment you guys made." Indeed the clan does. When Aran isn't busy training, she spends the rest of her time in the library, desperately trying to remember and it feels like masochism.

"Wonderful!" Phantom says with a small smile, the first Aran has seen in their first meeting. "Now publish it and make copies."

Lilin is taken aback. "What? No! We can't share sacred information like that!"

"Your sacred information is based on me - and the others." He adds like it's an afterthought. "I'm just giving you permission."

"And let the bad guys come chasing after you?"

"Please – the 'bad guys' tried to recruit me, the good guys tried to lock me up, and the wealthy wanted to lynch me. Besides, the Black Mage's lackeys know we're back since the MAU Conference." An exaggerated roll of the shoulders. "But I guess keeping quiet wouldn't hurt. After all, it'll be humiliating to face a mob when I'm this weak."

A shuffling in the trees. Aran turns to see three shadows in the distance: two human shaped and one, large and flying next to them. Before the names _Freud_ _and Afrien_ come to mind, Mercedes dashes past her like the wind, sprinting down Empress's Road as if her life depended on it.

* * *

Neinheart knows what the younger knights call him behind his back. Arrogant, cold, and a larger list of insults filled with expletives not worth remembering. It doesn't matter because he's self-assured that he's doing his job right as Lady Cygnus's Tactician, and if he has to be arrogant and cold to do his job well, by all means, he will be so. Mihile has commented more than once that without Neinheart, the Cygnus Knights of the whole would be dysfunctional, with or without Empress Cygnus and Shinsoo as moral support.

Simply, Neinheart is a strategist, the man behind the knights issuing the orders, the diplomat who faces the other organizations' and their prejudices and grudges for the greater good. Meeting the Resistance, the Dual Blades, and the Pirates weren't easy, but it was manageable even though negotiations were slow in progress.

So Neinheart plans to go at this as he always does despite the sinking feeling.

Mercedes is hugging Evan, with tears in the corners of her closed eyes, laughing in relief and joy and Neinheart immediately knows what happened between the Queen of Elves and the previous Dragon Master. Mir is silent for once, shocked Neinheart assumes, because he chattered nonstop on their way to Ereve and honestly, Neinheart is a bit too. The tactician remembers so clearly: the stoic face, the charisma Mercedes exudes when she met Lady Cygnus the first time before the first MAU Conference. Mercedes is all business, all graceful power in one body – a royal through and through.

And here she is so carefree, humbled and relaxed, basically asking Evan in the old language of "What happened to you and Afrien? Why are you both so small – another strange experiment?"

Neinheart doesn't know how Freud and Afrien looked like, but Mercedes's blue eyes are filled with complete recognition; not even a single cloud of doubt or denial fog those cerulean orbs. In short, she's far from denial.

This won't end well.

Neinheart wants to clear his throat, to wear the mask that he does every time there's an upcoming battle.

He doesn't. And Mercedes keeps hugging Evan, who's probably overwhelmed with the experience as it is.

Behind Mercedes are Aran, Lilin, and Phantom, who all walk instead of running like Mercedes. Phantom halts in mid-step, allowing Aran and Lilin to pass by him, a confused expression gracing his features. He's catching on.

Mir is still not saying anything, and the others aren't either. Aran and Lilin don't know Freud and Afrien as much as Neinheart does and he's partially relieved for their ignorance. But even so, watching Mercedes studying Evan, still thinking Freud is doing some age experiment_ again_, and what is this "again" - the man actually did it before? – and please, someone say_ something_.

"Aren't you just a child?" And it's Aran, tilting her head, studying the current Dragon Master: a thirteen year old farm brat who's been traveling around Victoria Island with a hyperactive "lizard" the size of a Hector.

"Um, yeah, I guess I am compare to you guys…" The voice freezes Mercedes, probably noticed that the tone is too different from Freud's. She's drawing back slowly, her arms grasping his upper arms now, eyes finally seeing. "Er, you're Queen Mercedes right? Sorry, but I don't know what you were saying…" Shy and red. He really is just a kid.

Evan looks past Mercedes and dips his head slightly, submissive to the others. "H-Hello, I'm Evan and this is Mir." The boy says, gesturing towards the Onyx Dragon. "Mir?"

"Oh, um –" Mir jolts. "Hi! I'm a dragon, but don't say it to anyone! It's a secret," Mir says, finally on the ground, wings packed behind him. Mir looks at Mercedes, a stone statue still staring. "Um, you're really pretty and all, but master feels uncomfortable. I think your prettiness is bothering him."

As quick as a whiplash, the elfin queen stands up, stepping backwards and bumping into Phantom and Lilin behind her. "Thou art not F-Freud?" She's stuttering his name and it drives the point home. Damn it, this is why Neinheart leaves the letters to the lower ranked managers so he doesn't have to go through _this_ every time. It's bad enough that he strolls down the Knights Chambers every day, only to see a few blank doors that used to have names - a few faces that used to greet him the day before.

Mir scrunches up his face as much as a reptile can. "Whatsa Freud?"

And there it is. Mercedes's head drops down, as if the weight of the world plopped on top of it. Aran and Lilin are looking at each other with worried expressions, not speaking. Phantom is looking straight at Neinheart as if Balrogs are raiding Ereve, amethyst eyes piercing and demanding for an explanation. Neinheart can hear all the unspoken questions in the gaze: _What's going on? Who's the kid? If he's who I think he is, why in the seven hells didn't you say anything to_ him? Damn it.

"Aran, Phantom…Mercedes," Neinheart begins calmly though inside, he feels himself wavering. He has to do this, there's no other way to go at this. "This is the current Dragon Master. He wears the Spirit Pact on the back of his hand – the same insignia Mercedes showed me."

Brief, to the point, and enough to cover everything. There's a soft green glow around Mercedes now, her hair still shadowing her face. Everyone automatically takes a step back. Neinheart sees Aran clutching her pole-arm and Mir wrapping his tail around Evan protectively, but Phantom is calm – an acceptance. His sullen eyes say otherwise.

"E-Excuse me…" Mercedes whispers, the shine greater and greater. "I must return to Elluel. Tell Luminous I'm sorry."

In a flash of light, Mercedes is gone, a whirl of dust and leaves in empty space. As the dust settles, Neinheart sighs, a hand on his hair. Well, that's one way to get out of a sticky situation, except Mercedes's request won't be able to be carried out. Phantom is chuckling mirthlessly, shaking his head," Goddamn it, I should have teleported first. Now I have to explain because Aran's an amnesiac, Mercedes decides to take an easy way out and someone –" and he glares at Neinheart justifiably, though half-heartedly, "didn't say everything apparently."

"W-we're going to go," Lilin says quietly, dragging Aran to the side and away as if they're bystanders. Aran's expression is indeterminable, but Neinheart nods at his little sister, granting her permission. It's probably too much for these two to take in so far. "If you guys need any help, we're at Rien. See you..."

As the warrior and the girl walks away, Evan plays with his staff nervously. His light teal eyes dart everywhere but the two men with him. "I messed something up, didn't I?"

"No kid, you didn't even do anything," Phantom says, and he walks over to ruffle Evan's hair. For a man supposedly the master thief, he has all of Neinheart's respect. "You don't even know what you're doing, do you?" On the surface, the voice sounds amused, but the mourning underneath it isn't well hidden.

While Mir chirps "We're looking for adventure!" as cheerfully as one ignorant can be, Evan looks slightly ashamed and more grounded. "I…I don't know what's going on really. Mir calls me his master, but he knows more things than I do. I don't know about Spirit Pacts or dragons or anything..."

"So you don't know Freud and Afrien. You don't know about the Black Mage and what's going on in Maple World." It's not a question.

Affirming, Evan makes a wordless noise.

Phantom is quiet, taking it all in. Finally, "Is Luminous coming?"

Neinheart answers dutifully. "The Cygnus Knights have found a man that matched Mercedes's profile. He claimed to be Luminous, but he declined the invitation." For reasons the mage did not say. The report said he teleported away before another word. Suspicious, except there's no time to check further into it.

The master thief frowns. "The mouse declined? That's strange for him. Funny that my mood isn't getting better though."

Neinheart adjusts his monocle. "If you wish we can "

"No," Phantom responds. "Thank you, but if Luminous doesn't want to come that's his business. Let the mouse run away from another day. He'll have to deal with this later." The man grabs Evan's shoulder who jumps at the touch. "Easy there kid - Neinheart, you should probably go back to your work. I'm going to fill in a few details for…Evan. And Mir."

With that said, Phantom leads the confused boy away from Neinheart with Mir following behind the two. That ends it. Wish he can do something more, anything to improve the alliance with the elves, but there's only so much an outsider can do. The tactician turns heel, walking down the empty road. There's work to be done - he needs to receive the Cygnus Knights' daily reports tonight and negotiate with the Halflingers in Leafre to allow more human traffic. The knights can't do anything if they're not allowed to in the first place. Also, there's more rumors of a strange portal appearing and disappearing in the Six Path Crossway, just below the docks – Neinheart needs to send a few knights to check up on it. Speaking of portals, he needs to direct more funds to the Silent Crusade. They must be prepared to check up on the volatile Mystic Gates.

As the sun dips low behind the horizon, signaling the end of another day, Neinheart is already lost in his thoughts, not noticing that he's at the end of the path until Lady Cygnus sleepily waves from her side with Shinsoo. The world moves on.

* * *

(3-18-13) **A/N:** I am now putting footnotes. Ignore if you don't care ^^

1) In one of Mercedes's quests, an archaeologist name Winston comments on her strange accent. Considering that Mercedes is hundreds and hundreds of years old (implied in another one of her quests), I thought she may have a different way of speaking. If anyone wants a translation on what she's saying like a footnote (I had to research Shakespeare to understand what she would say so I'm not great at this either), please comment on the reviews. I don't always check my PMs. ^^

Thank you for reading.


	2. Curious, the Wheel points the butterfly

**Part 1**

**Chapter 1**

**Curious, the Wheel points the butterfly**

Orbis is different at night. The once briskly, rolling clouds are spread throughout the sky more evenly, now a hazy violet fog that layers above the silent floating land. It's dark, pitch dark actually, but Luminous keeps his orb inside his pocket, dimming the brilliant glow. Cloud Park is all pearly curved gates and arbors that shine under the moon's wholesome watch, and the overgrown vines overrun the various fractured sculptures illustrate how troublesome the recent exponential growth of the monsters had on the gardeners lately. Yes, there is a sort of chaotic beauty in the untamed nature of the vines and blossoms, but Luminous feels distaste at the budding nependeaths. He approaches them noiselessly.

With the head of his shining rod, he taps one vine with a spark of magic. Crystal white blue veins breathe under the green flesh like a spider web of light, and the blushing petals wither as if time fast forward. The wind drifts them away as Luminous moves on.

He stops. The distant conversations and footsteps echo across the worn, grey road. Luminous frowns; not many would have a purpose to be in the Cloud Parks this late at night. A palm over his pocket, the glow of his orb diminished. Luminous ducks behind a large terracotta pot with his shining rod close to his chest.

"-sha's right. S'not just 'linia no more - traces been poppin' out in O'bis too. " A voice grunts. Luminous remembers that accent; it's from one of the two Cygnus Knights, the gruff flame wizard, who confronted him on his identity when they first spotted him. They had not left? "Fer a paranoin' loo, he's mighty shot-on the Black Mage."

_The Black Mage? _An impulse to demand answers and Luminous shoots it down blindly – _and why_? He feels like a fugitive, wrapping himself in the arms of the eager shadows when he has nothing to hide, nothing to gain from hiding. If he's so curious, he could come out and ask. There's no need for the unnecessary eavesdropping like a coward.

_Except you're still not moving so what are you if not a coward?_

"Don't jump to conclusions yet." A second, cooler voice responds finally. It's the skeptical Night Walker and Luminous will not forget her, mildly annoyed. Two hours of interrogation, cautious for a meeting the mage wouldn't have gone to in the first place. "They can be from the Black Wings."

"Com'n! Bitty rocks pumpin' evil weirdings from 'linia, 'Shrooms place, Ker'ing Square, Sleepywood and now O'bis that a'nt picked up by the Black Wings? And wot they want from them places to beg'n with? "

The footsteps slow in front of Luminous's hiding spot. Convenient. "Information states that the Black Wings was created only a few years ago, but their activity has been surging this year," the woman continues calmly. "This could be a scheme in a much larger scale. We just need to find out what it is."

"Tavinne, really? A lost city filled with the walkin' dead in Nihal Desert, Lion King's castle back in El Nath – " _Von Leon returns?_ " - basically all the commanders' poppin' like spores after, wot Shinsoo's say? Hundreds years? So why now? Black Mage's comin' back and them scum preparin' the welcome party, that's wot!"

"Until we collect more information, we shouldn't make any assumptions Bhujart."

"If yer not so sure, go ask one of them Legends! Just met Lum'nous four days 'go and me reckons the man han't left town yet. Ask'im what he thinks of all this!"

"I still don't trust him."

_Wise one, isn't she? _The mage crushes the thought forcibly.

An incredulous chuckle. "Yer as worse as Hersha!"

"Mercedes didn't mention that Luminous had a red right eye. It's a unique facial feature she could have told us about him…if the man is Luminous at all."

_That's something to ruminate for a while._ And Luminous's thoughts apparently will not stay silent.

"Yer ridiculous. Now let's get outta here – Neinheart's will have our asses if we 'on't report the fin'ings soon."

The steps continue until all that fills the still air are cloud crickets chirping away. That seems to be the end of it. Luminous does not bother to wait for the pair to walk far enough. He slicks further away from the main road, pulling his hood up to enter head-on to the bushes before the Cygnus Knights hear his movement. The conversation between the knights is not much, but it offers enough – more than Luminous would like to hear actually and he grimaces to himself. The commanders returning…if the flame wizard did ask him on what Luminous thinks, the light mage would unhesitatingly answer that the Black Mage's return is imminent.

It's mind-boggling though. The seal is so powerful, utilizing the powers of another Transcendent to secure it, and the corrupted demigod's followers believe they have found a way to break that very seal?

It's a feat to dread - to fear and despair, and Luminous curses the side to him that is looking forward to another ultimate battle, as if it's a common thrill to enjoy. As if his life and the entire world wasn't at stake centuries ago.

_Or maybe it's just you. You want the best way out._

Focusing back on the task in hand, the mage adjusts his sight to the darkness again, cautious as he parts curtains of vines, wild and free and frustratingly interfering. Tiptoeing around twigs and the occasional large rocks, Luminous attempts to stay as silent as he can. The element of surprise would be lost if the monsters awake before he attacks them. Among adventurers, it's an unspoken rule to not stray from the given paths too far for the monsters have the advantage of a familiar terrain and most likely be packed together in high numbers.

But Luminous has a quest to do and if he wants to have the fourth augury soon enough, he's willing to take initiative and ambush a few monster nests tonight. Particularly the nests of one hundred luster pixies. Shouldn't be too difficult.

The air has grown chilly. Luminous doesn't shiver, but he sees his breath leaving in small puffs and it's another memory again. Of him and Lania, playing in the snow together. It was their first year together, when she was ten and eager to pummel him with snowballs until he laughs "mercy mercy!", only to offer him hot chocolate back once they came back home. Fonder days, and he smiles nostalgically even though it has been only four years since he met Lania.

And only two months to ruin it all.

The memories dissipate as he gasps, nearly stumbling back when he realizes a second too late that he's at the cliffs of the island. Looking down, the crumbling edges crunching under his boots and he gingerly takes a few steps backwards. Any further and he would be falling to an untimely, pathetic death among El Nath's mountains kilometers below. Pulling his orb out, to see where he is, and the ice of the clouds that swim around the island's cliffs reflect back to him. The moon's rays don't penetrate the wilder, convoluted side of the gardens as much as he hopes.

A high pitched growl behind him. He should have taken out the orb later.

Experience reminds him to duck and he does, a beam of magic in the shape of the symbolic sun nearly blasting his head off the cliff. Luminous twists towards the island's interior, his orb shining in front of him protectively, and reveals a lone pixie: a marshmallow soft yellow body with glaring black eyes and a tiny, stolen wand. No black hat –a child pixie then - but the magic it just produced was in a shape of the symbolic sun, so it must be a luster pixie. The mage simply calls forth a few arrows of light that pierce the earth in front of the pixie, sudden and sturdy enough to dig halfway deep into the soil. The pixie jolts and scrambles backwards, before comically crawling back to the bushes, bravado gone. Luminous follows, determined.

Blushing blossoms hug the sides of the familiar trail the pixie floats down on, and Luminous notices that he's so far in the wilderness that he doesn't see even a single garden décor around him anymore. He's running and the pixie in front of him turns briefly to shriek, attempting to flee faster and faster. It takes a left turn around an aged, weeping tree, and Luminous finds a pack of larger, sleepy pixies arousing from sleep as the child pixie squeals for them to awake. The earth slopes down towards the pack, the grass dwindling to a flat, mossy green circle – a monster nest and if there's one, there's plenty around.

Luminous acts quickly.

No need for a knockback spell – the pixies are gathered just in the way he desires – and the light mage darts around the pack, facing towards the direction of the cliffs. He releases a beam of light, concentrates the size into a smaller, slicker form and whips the pixies up front, and if the pixies weren't awake before they are certainly awake now. Snarling, shrieking and pulling out their wands from god knows where they keep them, but Luminous changes his hold on his dual headed staff, keeps it straight in front of him and _pushes_.

The beam straightens, an extremely long bar of light that shoves the pixies altogether. Luminous struggles to carry them through the forestry until he no longer sees trees in his path. A mighty swing, and the beam shove both parts of bushes and the monsters. Luminous watches indifferently as the debris and the pixies fall of the island without a fight. Black dots shrink smaller and faster than the yellow bodies, and though Luminous doesn't hear anything land from this height, it does confirm one thing: pixies cannot fly.

Luminous allows a small smile. Kriel is more concerned about the increasingly burdening weight that threatens to plunge Orbis to El Nath. The light mage isn't sure if merely offing monsters will lighten the load – the arrogant fairy most likely will demand passing adventurers for population control. Either way, crushing the pixies into dust or pushing them off the island will achieve the same goal.

Luminous estimates that he has killed nine or ten pixies. Ninety more to go, then he can hunt a hundred lucidas and attain that augury.

The light mage continues to hunt all night long.

* * *

"No, no – keep your shoulders higher like _this_ and widen the space between your elbows – this way," Maha instructs, his yellow intangible hands guiding Aran's arms into the proper stance. "If you don't keep the pole-arm high enough, you won't be able to hook the head and yank your enemy to the ground."

The warrior shifts her weight to allow more freedom to her arms, only for Maha to shake his head viciously. "You're skipping steps again! You're not strong enough to use your strength so practice using your momentum and take advantage of your center of gravity, alright? Always use your entire body, no matter what."

Aran sighs – another training session that's likely to continue for hours, before speaking wryly, "Only when you're teaching me you sound smart." She smirks as the spirit stomps around in the air, his fit ignored by the penguins chipping off the incredibly dense ice that hugs his physical form. The penguins have long been used to the female warrior to talk to the air, though they're sending glances when the giant pole arm mysteriously vibrates like it is doing right now.

"Shut up! Now watch me, moron master!" Maha demands finally, though Aran is his master and supposed to be demanding _him_ – the bratty, ancient spirit. A golden light in a shape of Maha's pole arm forms in the spirit's hands. The spirit commits a series of moves, his fluid swings and turns unhindered by the snow, and Aran can easily imagine monsters easily subjugated by the powerful stabs. Maha faces her, nodding her to continue, and she attempts to follow the combination moves.

"Good, your body is remembering," Maha compliments after correcting a flaw in the position here and there, smiling amiably. "But you still have a long way to go before I can wake some of the stronger, dormant moves in your soul. I suggest finding some stronger monsters outside of the island and have some _real _training. Lilin's going to kill you if you nearly cause the murukun to extinct again."

The pole arm user groans and drops her weapon, the blade slicing an inch deep neatly into the frost. Maha predictably chastises her," Treat your weapons well! I expect you to polish me everyday once you wield me. It's the least you can do for forgetting me."

Dropping down, elbows resting on her knees, Aran glares at empty space, fists twisting the cape splayed beneath her. "I'm getting sick of training. I need to do _something_ productive. Something to help me get my memories back."

Before, she had another goal to work towards for besides capturing her memories: collecting the seal stones. Only for Phantom to say that it's not necessary to collect them in the first place, even if the Black Wings desire them. Aran checks everyday in Rien's library, to see if the seal stone is secured in the hidden vault, for what else to do but guard it? For the past three days, she has spent all her time in Rien, dedicated to a rigid training program Lilin provided her.

But the glaive user is getting restless and, again, needs to do _something. _Surely there is something for her to do.

Maha swoops down next to her and speaks in a hopeful lilt, though his eyes are slightly dispirited. "Hey, don't get down Aran. You remembered Mercedes and Phantom, and a little bit about the Onyx Dragons. That's a lot of progress."

Another heavy sigh. "But the memories…they're not enough," Aran replies sullenly, turning away from Maha. "The Mirror of Desires only shows me glimpses of my past memories the first time. After that it's all my imagination. Desiring for a memory that doesn't exist."

She's not saying the whole truth and she's glad that Maha is too wound up trying to comfort her to notice. It's not a lie, but there's more to it and it doesn't make sense, how some her memories are played out. Maybe something's wrong with the mirror, or maybe her brain is being an idiot and blocking something, like a trauma that she's not aware of.

But there's a shadow. It's not visible, always hovering above her consciousness whenever she's traveling through her locked mind in the mirror: when she's prying for answers from a giant Onyx Dragon about the seal or when she's discussing about the aid of other Transcendents to Mercedes and Phantom. It's as if there's another memory right there, a little seed that needs some water and a little picking to sprout, except she can't seem to reach it and it's so damn frustrating because it's _right_ _there_ and -

"ARAN!"

The warrior jerks, returning to reality with Maha's loud voice. "W-what's going on?"

Crossing his harms, the golden spirit pouts. "I said your name a bunch of times and you didn't answer. What's in your mind?"

Composure returned, she lies smoothly. "Nothing much. Just thinking about Mercedes and Phantom - that's all."

The spirit does not think much, sitting back in the air. "Mercedes huh?" Maha breathes, chuckling. "Fighting her was fun. You guys had the _best_ spars and she gave a good challenge. That light mage and the thief had some cool fights, but they were never that serious."

Maha is a spirit so he can't feel anything, and can probably fly away if he wants to but she can try again. Startling the ghost, Aran leans forward, staring deeply into the golden eyes. "Tell me more."

_You've been with me for so long, the closest person to me in this life next to Lilin. You want me to remember more than anyone else. __What's stopping you?_

Maha becomes melancholic, his eyebrows curling upwards. But he stays adamant. "Aran, you know I can't…" Yes he can and if she pushes any more, he _will_. But Maha is already glowing orange – a sign that he's becoming upset – and she withdraws reluctantly. The pole-arm is a tad bit emotional and Aran will not forget the first time they talk. Trembling, glowing furious red, Maha would have gone on a rampage if he wasn't focusing on his disappointment as much as his rage. Lilin complained the rest of the day, even though her hands were shaking.

The warrior plasters on a smile, attempting to lighten the dreary mood. "Yes, I know I can't." She stands up, shrugging, though her disappointment remains. "But I could try, right?"

She hears a breath of relief next to her and it's a good thing she has her back on Maha. Or else he would see the hurt on her face. Lilin and Maha, two individuals who somehow are crossed with each other without a real conversation, agree that the Mirror of Desires will twist Aran's memories if she knows her memories without receiving them naturally. A justifiable, yet detestable argument.

No - she shouldn't be negative. She's a Legend, even though she doesn't feel like one, but her memories are coming back gradually so she'll be herself in no time. She needs to stay productive and positive. For Lilin and Maha at least.

The warrior looks back to the giant glaive incase in ice. Below it are the penguins, drinking coffee and eating fish snacks, their pickaxes and shovels by their sides. Ice blue eyes gaze around Rien: bamboo support the red tiled roof buildings, keeping both sunshine and ice from sneaking through the oriental paper windows. Sturdy trees carry clumps of snow in their long arms. Far away, across the miles of brilliant clear water, are Rien's white mountains, their jagged heads shaped like sharp teeth. A gorgeous view of the world's wonders.

Thank the universe for nature, her mood is improving already. Aran doesn't complain – and why should she, when Rien is so beautiful? Yet she wonders why the island is so cold despite located in warmer seas. She asks Maha this.

"Don't know," the spirit mutters offhandedly. "Maybe a pissed off nature spirit decided to freeze the island just to screw around."

Aran arches a brow. "Haven't I taken you to Rien before I was cursed?"

"Yeah. You did."

"Then why don't you – " and Maha is already floating back up hear his physical form wordlessly, not hearing what Aran has to say. Stupid pole-arm. The spirit's master sighs, not bothering to continue the obviously done conversation. The self centered pole arm is just going to do whatever he wants to do anyway.

The golden spirit leans his back forward from his spot, hand over his eyes as if looking into the distance. "I see Lilin coming – she's got something in her hand."

And indeed the little girl does, her long blue hair flying behind her as she runs toward Aran with a crisp envelope that bears the Cygnus Knights seal on its flap. Her cool grey eyes show excitement, the first in three days. "It's a request from Neinheart!"

Intrigued, Aran accepts it, swiftly taking out the contents. Ice blue eyes skim over the page quickly. "Demon activity in Victoria Island?" Demons – a separate race from humans and monsters, various in appearances but share the use of demonic mana. An enigmatic people – Rien's library does not have many records of them and Aran never cared enough to seek out more books of them.

Lilin nods. "According to Neinheart, demon activity has been increasing around Victoria Island lately, but the Cygnus Knights are too obvious to get any deeper in the demonic activity investigation."

"Too obvious?"

"Shinsoo's powers," she elaborates. "A demon in with the Black Mage would feel Shinsoo's mark within a mile away. Demons are generally more magic sensitive than most humans are."

Aran hums thoughtfully. "But I'm not a Cygnus Knight, which means I can gain more access to the demonic activity than most knights can." But is the quest worth accepting?

As if reading her mind, Maha dives down next to her from his spot, smiling encouragingly. "You better take this one, Aran. You crushed more than a couple demons long time ago and chances are you can regain some memories. Besides, anything involving with the Black Mage is something worth looking into."

Looks like it's resolved. Aran nods to Lilin, who claps her hands together in delight. "That's the spirit!" she exclaims. The little training manager takes out a thermos, and the image of revolting, green gunk slams into Aran's mind. "I also made another stamina juice – protein rich with lots of fiber – so drink it all before you go to Victoria!"

Of course she did. The warrior makes a face. "Blended mushrooms, raw eggs, pig tails, crushed fish bones, octopus legs and slime liquid, right?" And if she's lucky, Lilin probably tossed in raw ginseng roots. For flavor - yum.

"I also put in a secret ingredient," Lilin says not without a slight smirk and Maha makes a vomiting gesture next to Aran, to which the warrior looks away. It could become reality. Lilin stuffs the thermos into the warrior's hands, turning the glaive user around towards the direction of the harbor. "I've sent a message to Tru to prepare some info beforehand. Now get going!"

* * *

There are several oh-so very important information Phantom learned so far: one, the Black Wings Watchmen know nothing about the higher-ups. Most of them are forced to work for them and thus totally useless, like a prom dress. Two, the organization is amassing immense energy specifically from rue ores for a reason he has yet discover. Three, he still can't find a clever moustache that would match with his new Black Wings hat without making him look like a complete tool. Well, the Black Wings haven't suspected anything for the past two weeks so he must be fine.

He never liked facial hair even for disguise purposes. Very few can pull off a mustache and Phantom is _not_ one of them.

Walking up to the mountain cave, the master thief tips his hat at the rabbit guard with a very billionaire smile. Too confident to be suspicious, Phantom is impeccable. Inside though he's still processing the fact that the Black Wings are using man sized rabbits to do their dirty work.

Like really. Rabbits. The founders must be short on money.

The thief strides into the Power Plant Lobby, sharp amethyst eyes inspecting the lovely interior design again. Master Raven's rule twenty-three: always study the environment no matter how many times one has been in it. Now if only he applied that rule on bombs then he would have been alive. Oh well.

And here he is again. Dark, gloomy ultramarine caverns with one main exit and five emergency escape routes, if the cracks of light on the rocky roofs are of any indication– check. Two spotlights dramatically aim at the giant rue crystal embraced by the complicated machinery with intimidating, rusty gears in the center – check. Crates and barrels of supply and energy resources sitting by said machine, and cranes and humongous drills in the distance to expand the typical, bad guy hideout – check. And – ah ha! There she is: Le Tierre, the Black Wings secretary. The bored, young woman in a slick, black uniform that is currently being seduced by the greatest, handsomest thief in the world - check.

And look. She's peering at his direction as well, gaze admiring, more so than yesterday and day before yesterday and the day before that. Perfect. As she pulls her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, Le Tiere says," Mourali, you're a welcome relief from the dirty little urchins who work the mines - as always."

The thief approaches her with a smile that won him thousands of hearts centuries ago – and still in excellent form if Le Tierre's blush means anything. A slight bow of the head and a grasp on her delicate hand. Phantom lays a feather light kiss on the soft skin, "Fair Le Tierre, I hope you found the snake skin purse I gave you worthy of your affection."

The secretary giggles, delighted. "That was you? Oh Mourali – "

"Please," Phantom cuts in. He brings his lips to her ear, and she hushes to his husky voice, the charm turned up to the maximum. "No need to be formal, my lady. Call me Cyril."

"Cyril," Le Tierre breathes, doe eyes alight, a hint of excitement in their depths as Phantom pulls away. "I, oh, I_ love_ the purse Cyril." And she hugs the yellow and black striped purse for emphasis. "It looks so expensive and oh my, this is the _sweetest _thing that anyone has done for me."

_Damn right it should be, _Phantom mentally rolls his eyes_. I killed the snakes myself and the purse still needed three days and five hundred thousand mesos to get done by this morning. The meeting took longer than I hoped._

He didn't even spend this much money for his _mother_. But then again, who does really.

The woman darts her gaze away from Phantom, "But this is too much, Cyril. Are you sure you want to give this to me?"

The thief actor draws back. "I only did so because it is my final gift to you." An affected, deep sigh leaves him. "It's such a pity that this is the last day. I would adore being with you longer, Le Tierre, but my post is moved to Victoria Island."

Gasping, Le Tierre covers her mouth in shock, perfectly following the script. "Victoria Island? Why are you being moved!?"

"I am a lower rank member of the Black Wings," Phantom explains gently, though holding Le Tierre's upper arms, gloved hands tightening. He stares into her auburn eyes silently, prolonging the tense moment. "In order to gain a higher position in the organization to be next to your side, I must take initiative and complete a dreary task in Victoria Island."

Arms crossed, Le Tierre demands, "How long will it last?"

"A half a year, but I promise, I will try to finish as soon as – "

"No!" the secretary bursts a tad too loudly. She looks around in case anyone has heard her, but the other members only glance at the two before returning back to their work in hand. Le Tierre turns back to Phantom with a quieter voice. "That's too long Cyril! And we were just getting to know each other…"

_We _were _getting to know each other_.

The poor girl, so deeply hooked in. Working for the Black Wings must mean sacrificing a social life, especially if one's surrounded by no one but rabbits. That, or Phantom's just that damn good. Ego states it's the latter.

Le Tierre is quiet, her dainty features twisted in concentration. Then she establishes a cool, professional smile, her eyes betraying her excitement. "Mr. Mourali, I shall recommend you to the other bosses in the hideout. You have been dedicatedly working for the Black Wings, eliminating the haywire security robots, correct?"

The secretary gestures towards an entrance framed with wooden bars, shadows beyond it. "Please wait in the hallway, in front of the office. I will have a private chat and send an officer to interview you for your well-deserved promotion." She winks before the shadowy distance of the large lobby consumes her figure whole.

_Bingo_.

The cast are hurrying to the backstage. The props are set up. Red curtains currently pulling away for the protagonist, who is ready to take the audience by storm. _Enter_ PHANTOM, INT. OFFICE HALLWAY (VERNE MINES) – DAY, and yes, the setting is perfect. The delightful blinking light bulbs hanging on singular wires, buzzing as they struggle to maintain their lighting. The intimidating lengthy hallway, which is really another extension of the cave - the walls, ceiling, and ground all dark blue rocks and soil. Lots of wooden crates, construction supplies and tools, sitting next to pots, used to stuff scrolls in. Lovely. Now if only the limelight would be kind enough to shine on PHANTOM [THE MASTER THIEF], the show can on the road.

Anytime now.

Minutes tick by, the moist caverns dripping water in some lonesome corner somewhere. The master actor starts tapping his foot impatiently.

…_Anytime now_.

Where is the damned interviewer? Why's the orchestra hushed? Where is the suspenseful atmosphere? The inevitable victory when Phantom snatches that promotion and plucks the juicy secrets of the Black Wings right under their noses? Truly it shouldn't take _that_ long for LE TIERRE [THE BLASTED WOMAN (WHERE'S THE INTERVIEWER , IT MUST HAVE BEEN FIFTEEN OR TWENTY MINUTES ALREADY)] to play lapdog.

And the limelight may be a metaphor, but no, really, it is _way_ too dark even with the dismal light bulbs. Hell, the longer he stares into the darkness of the hallway, the more it seems darker. His eyes are even playing tricks on him now – shadows bouncing side to side as if he's not the only one -

A breeze. Just by his ear. The cut air is singing and the thief blindly touches the wooden door behind of him, feeling a metallic, curved end. Tracing a little lower – a fabric, a tail. A kunai. The shadows move.

Phantom scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I apologize but I personally believe that fatal method acting is overrated, thank you very much."

Whipping out his cane, he breaks down the office door in a second, right before a row of kunais miss his head by a hair because no, he is _not_ going to teleport to the Lumiere empty handed after two weeks of undercover. Splinters fly around him, and Phantom barely takes in all of the room – no windows, single exit aka the entrance, shelf, lamp, and desk – jackpot. A yellow folder with a large, blaring red CONFIDENTIAL stamped on its front, corners of papers peeking out, definitely important and worth swiping. Phantom snatches it off the desk, ducking behind it as he hears more shouting along the lines of "Get him!" and "Don't let him escape!" and amazing, _can this become anymore cliche'_?

Summoning a card to take him to the Lumiere - except he can't. Magical barrier enforcing the office most likely, which means he must face his fearsome adversaries, the - -

Phantom stares. Rabbits. More rabbits_._ Dressed in thief garbs, black eye masks, a dagger in one paw and knives ready in the other. Man sized ninja rabbits.

The master thief ungracefully sputters indignantly.

They brought rabbits to face him, the greatest thief of all time. This is even more insulting than being called a sheep with no individuality. Luminous's loss.

Glaring, the man ducks under the throwing knives, speeding midway through the hallway. A glint in the light, a rabbit trying to stab him, but Phantom draws in close and with the butt of his cane, stabs the giant animal front to back. Long white ears straighten in shock, and before Phantom can grab the body to shield from more distant attacks, he yelps at the huge _puff!_ Gone is the rabbit in titanium dust, leaving behind a small furry rabbit – a normal one – fleeing past his feet. Live experimentation. That makes _much _more sense. Phantom feels some of his lost pride returning.

He can't fight freely with the folder in hand – the documents will become damaged. So he jumps, and double jumps, flying over two rabbits' heads, his feet landing on the skull of the third. The rabbit falls backwards, clearing the rest of the hallway for Phantom and the master thief scatters away, buck teeth clattering angrily in the distance. He tries to teleport to the Lumiere again, except it _still_ doesn't work so he has to go outside and quickly, before the entrance is blocked and he's trapped inside enemy territory. Murmuring soft "excuse me"s and "pardon me"s to confused Black Wings members, Phantom deliberately shoves a few workers out of his path, accidently pushing one and dropping his clipboard. Warnings and threats chase him, but they haven't realized what's happening yet and Phantom doesn't plan to stay around for that moment. He's close to the exit of the Verne Mines –

"Cyril, where are you going?"

Pause.

Swinging his arms, Phantom twists his whole upper body in mid-step, and plants a kiss on Le Tierre's cheek, who squeaks in surprise. Exploiting the distraction, the man snakes a hand to Le Tierre's snake purse, and pulls away with it, true to his title. He grins cheekily. "I'll be taking this – my maid deserves it more than you do."

Without missing a beat, he adds," And that lipstick does not suit you. Stick to pink – red represents purity, which you obviously don't have." He shoves the CONFIDENTIAL folder into the snake purse as Le Tierre stares, as if she's still processing what's going on.

As Phantom dashes towards the exit, the conductor is leading the orchestra to the height of the action: a thousand angry voices for capture, a siren blaring to the flashing red lights, how very late, and one shrill, horrified squawk followed by a string of unfeminine curses.

Sunlight fills his vision and without hesitation, Phantom attempts to teleport to the Lumiere the third time. A whirl of cards later, and he's on top of his ship, face flushed from the exercise. Thank god it finally worked. Gaston, his dutiful manservant, offers him a white towel edged in gold. "I assume we are done with Edelstein, sir?"

Phantom gently pats his face with the given towel. "The Black Wings from here to Mu Lung will know of me within an hour. Tell Renault to change course to Orbis." He tosses the snake purse to Gaston, to which the butler adjusts his monocle.

"A snake purse, Master Phantom? Oh you shouldn't have," the butler says in a voice so dry Ariant would have been envious. "Personally I would prefer a raise in my salary, but I guess I can sell this on mBay and pretend I did."

"Haha, very funny Gaston," Lumiere's owner replies sarcastically. "But no, take that to Christiane – inside are some files I'd like her to analyze."

"As you wish, sir."

There it is - [_Exeunt _PHANTOM and GASTON] - another job well done and Phantom follows Gaston inside.

* * *

Hilla is a new commander and it's frightening, knowing how hastily the Black Mage can acquire his followers in this new world even when he's sealed, cast away from the rest of the world. According to Elder Philius's theories, the Black Mage's seal is weakening, thus most of her people still frozen despite how hard she trains. It's a race against time, before the Black Mage is free, and Mercedes must prepare Elluel before that time arrives.

She's not so foolish to hope for the Black Mage to stay sealed forever, though he should be. It's terrifying, how much the Black Mage can influence the world just be being _awake_. The elfin queen is assorts through messages on her elegantly carved desk, writing replies to the proposals of alliances from other organizations beside the Cygnus Knights. Athena Pierce has been extremely helpful, supplying information of trustworthy organizations that can aid the elves while inputting her own opinions and suggestions. The bow instructor – and how strange, at how big little Athena has grown – even created a whole new folder of valuable information.

'_Tis unfortunate,_ Mercedes thinks as she gently pushes a pile of messages next to her books. She retrieves another paper, pure white and crisp, perfectly rectangular unlike the papers from long ago.

Even stranger, Athena Pierce cannot recall the exact year when the Black Mage was sealed neither how many years have passed since the evacuation of Leafre. The Elders are the same, in that they cannot remember the year they have been sealed even though in all other matters, their memories are perfectly intact like Mercedes's. Phantom's uneasy theory gains confirmation despite how ridiculous.

Well, concerning one's self over the years is unimportant compare to other matters. Why the master thief bothers to make theories over it leaves Mercedes.

_And Athena - she hath very oft of late no leisure time of herself, a place of knowledge as haggard as my sovereignty. Beetle o'er her soul I must not, o' a counterfeit monarch, gracing albatrosses upon good friends._

Counterfeit_ – _

False.

Unconfident ice blue eyes, darting side to side, away from Mercedes's glare, because she's not as bold as she used to be, _not herself at all_ -

Well! There is so much work that needs to be done. Thank the Great Spirit for the elders to be free from the curse; Philius and Astilda are working hard to find other ways to revive their frozen people and Danika is already training, fitting back her skills into her weary body as a true Elder of War should. Mercedes must order her to take a few of the unfrozen elves to clear out the forestry surrounding Elluel. The town requires an expansion: first step, push the borders further until the fountainhead becomes easily accessible to the elves. It seems that Mercedes's name and the race of elves are spreading throughout Maple World for the Black Wings to attempt tainting their water supply while the queen was in the meeting three days ago. _Logger-headed sheep-biters, the lot. _

Although the Empress Cygnus's knights are doing well overseeing the village itself, they cannot watch all that occurs around it. But honestly, to have Elder Astilda to inform her of the corrupted waters so late! Mercedes must inform Lalich to station a few of his knights to guard the border gates. The wretched Black Wings shouldn't have crossed in the first place.

At least Danika shouldn't have too much problem. After all, the slimes are so weak and so plentiful in their numbers that no one will bat an eye. Still, Elluel must modernize as quickly as possible.

The queen tacks on another memo on her recently acquired pinboard, which is more than half full of colorful post-it notes and letters to remember. Though slightly sullen, Mercedes grudgingly admits that today's advanced technology has offered a variety of convenient uses.

_Joyous dove Freud, if he -_

Mercedes quickly pulls another stack of unopened letters closer to her. A sway of her hand, and the torn envelopes fall off the desk, straight to the trash can. She takes the first letter from the fresh pile: another message from Empress Cygnus, who requests advice on how to structure the real Conference Meeting when the time arrives. That's right - the first MAU Meeting was interrupted before any alliances could be made. Hopefully, the next continental conference will focus back to the politics and the usual, dull petty arguments of differences and betrayals. Like every meeting that requires a mass alliance.

_Tremble, machine caged behind my bosom, if the strumpet Luck is generous to halt the cycle of ennui in this generation,_ the elfin queen breathes through her nose. Empress Cygnus is taking a nigh impossible endeavor, but should be awarded for attempting. Mercedes writes down her reply with a few words of encouragement before sealing the envelope with the ancient royal elf stamp.

A knock on her chambers interrupts her. "Most fair of greetings and desires, your highness! There's a letter for you!" Danika's voice rises beyond the door to which Mercedes openly groans.

"Scraping mountains of El Nath be envious! Slashed woods of mine shall surpass thine heights!"

Danika giggles. "Allow trespass to her highness's chambers, my queen? 'Tis a message from an ambassador abound to Sleepywood. One that requires gather and surmise!"

"Anon," the queen responds as she swings open her doors. Petals follow the Elder of War, who bows deeply, bangs of soft sunset not wholly covering her smile. Spring green eyes twinkle in amusement, as Danika pats her rose pink skirt down.

"Sweet words from a hidden name," Danika chirps gleefully, nearly skipping into Mercedes's quarters. She's in a good mood. "Coarse numbers, as if the man hath no art to reckon his groans. Alas, I will be faithful." The young archer spreads out a bamboo scroll. Novel this is – not many letters sent are in scroll form. "_Dearest Queen Mercedes of the Elves, you do not know me, but I have seen you. A powerful, beautiful woman –_ praises her highness's strength, shrewd man!" Danika comments before continuing. "_Brimming with charisma and charm. You wield your dual bowguns so expertly that I want to see them for myself - up close and personal."_ Danika tries and fails to hide her glee._ "I voluntarily drop my pride to say that I desperately wish to see you. I will be waiting in Sleepywood for your arrival. I understand that as the Queen of Elves, you must be very busy. But I assure you that this is a visit worth venturing." _

"No name?" Mercedes inquires. "No time?"

Danika giggles again, shaking her head. "Shy creature, this puzzle!"

"Pismire pique no interest, "Mercedes says dismissively, lying across her red sofa bed ungracefully. She is tired. "Leave sweet Danika. Let sleep embrace this slug-a-bed."

"No reply to the fancy-monger?"

"A true fancy-monger bears heaven's tears and winter's wrath even when flurted," Mercedes silently yawns, a gloved hand to her lips. "Perhaps as a distraction. Let the dotard fain prove his ragtag patience."

"Wormwood, wormwood," Danika exclaims in hushed amazement. "Mirror of a flirt-gill - a puzzle, a minx, my highness! Not a questris for heart?"

Mercedes turns in her bed, back to Danika, who pouts. "I shall take leave, your highness." The Elder of War closes the doors behind her as Mercedes ponders over the heart -

A man. A human man who's less bullheaded and less revolting than his kin. A man with sharp, piercing eyes, constantly perusing complicated texts no matter the time of day. A child with open, trusting eyes, never underwent the years of hardships. Angular features, hardened with experience and yet, a hint of softness that indicated youth. Plump cheeks, baby fat - clearly not grown.

The ever studious man with the air of a scholar, laying out strategies across creaky tables in stormy days, directing orders to a ragtag team that's all the world had. And other times he tries out experiments – the stupidest of the stupidest – like when he accidentally destroyed Phantom's guestroom, banning him from the Crystal Garden for months. Or when he tinkered with river stones and somehow brought them into life, turning them into local monsters that bit ankles. Or when he was sick, and he accidentally spilled a chemical onto Mercedes, and she shrunk into a child. He didn't stop laughing the entire night, especially when Mercedes couldn't lift up her dual bowguns to puncture a thousand holes into the man.

He was always good-natured, and even he acts mischievous towards her, nearly as relaxed as he is with Afrien. A bold smile.

A small shaky voice, Evan and his submissive expression shattered the illusion, tearing Freud apart in her mind and it's frightening, how exact the child looks to his predecessor and Mercedes inwardly recoils.

The King of the Onyx Dragons claimed Freud took the curse for him. He should have been trapped in ice like her then. He should have awakened and free. He should be here. He should be alive.

Oh damn him. Damn him to the deepest circle of hell for breaking their promise.

It's harder to breathe and she clutches her chest because she's not being fair to him _none of this is fair_ and she has work to do _his work, his efforts, he's the first of them _and she has a village to care for, people who needs her _he began it all_ and there's no time to waste _time that he gave her_ if the Black Wings acknowledged her and her race. She told herself that she is _not _going to do this again – she _has_ to be the Queen of Elves, not a simple woman.

Mercedes forces herself to leave her bed - which is cold and stiff anyway - to her desk. Rubbing the drowsiness away, the Queen of Elves drives herself back to work. Right, Ellinia's biologist team is dating back Elluel's ancient mesos currency and is asking – nearly _begging_ - to visit the town's library. Actually, the next few letters are from the various scientific teams in Victoria Island asking if Mercedes is indeed the queen of elves and of course they are, the fools! Why do they bother to write such silly messages and most importantly, _how_ are they able to send it do her? Did the government already record her into their postal system, thus the Maple Mailbox frequently arriving?

Not matter. As long as the humans don't bother her village too much, Mercedes is fine. How grievous though, to depend on the inferior race! And even the younger races of fairy, the Slyphs of Ellinia, are nearly as bad as they – possibly even worse in attitude! Insolence must be contagious – Mercedes jots down a note to expand Elluel's borders and strengthen it. She'll give it to Danika tomorrow. Today is the little girl's training day after all.

And maybe it's still too early to consider an alliance with either the Thieves or the Dual Blades. Athena remarked that the two schools are at odds against each other. Mercedes will just put it aside for now. The energy source the alchemists in Magatia created sounds farily interesting – Mercedes will have Philius to look into it once the Elder of Magic is done looking into the Rite of Snow with Astilda. Also, the structure of trade needs to be reinstated and oh goodness, there's so much work to be done…

A tiny splash on Betty's letter, smudging the ink. Surprised, the queen wipes it away, looking up to the sky, pass the flowing fabrics draping over her bed chambers. Her bedroom has no ceiling, for the weather in Elluel is always pleasant, though for a moment Mercedes thought that it's raining –

Oh.

Shakily, she brings a finger to her eye.

_Oh._

* * *

"Thank you so much, lovely person! With these many tablecloths, I can cut out as many bandages as I can for my master! You are truly a lifesaver!" The puppet exclaims happily, struggling to crawl over to Evan. Its left arm joint wobbles until it disconnects. Gasping, Evan picks up the wooden marionette to plug the joint back into its socket. The little mage pats the puppet's head, who chirps. "Thank you! But before my master can fix me up, I must aid my master first."

Evan tilts his head. It's a really ugly puppet. Two gaping holes as empty eyes and a blocky wooden body caked in dried dirt. Two dried leaves sprouting from the tiny hole punctured on top of its head and a scar in the size of an 'X" on the side of its round head. It's a really ugly, really pitiful puppet. Its left arm is still trembling, as if the joint is still not fully back even with Evan's help. Size of a toddler, it's small enough to be carries up under its shoulder joints, but large enough to carry the batch of potions last time.

And Evan wants to put it into a little bed, cover it with fluffy blankets, a bunch of toys, and make sure no one hurts it ever again.

It's super polite and nice and really, _really_ considerate, beginning another monologue of how Evan is going to such lengths to help a stranger puppet that Evan is getting slightly teary eyed. Even Mir is darting unsure looks from the puppet to Evan, large grey blue eyes pleading _Master, we must help this bizarre talking puppet!_

_Way ahead of you Mir._

"Are you sure you can cut out all those bandages alone?" Evan asks worriedly. "You can barely walk!"

It's true. Evan has a pile of tablecloths – sixty of them from defeating the Junior Wraiths at Kerning City, folded neatly in his backpack, and the puppet definitely won't be able to carry all of them to its master. Its little stubby wooden legs are shaking without carrying anything!

"I'm fine," the puppet says, bowing. Then it falls, wood clacking against the jabbing, baby stalagmites and Evan feels guilty just _thinking_ of leaving the little thing again. It struggles to get up. "Really, I am fine! This is nothing compare to the pain my master has gone through. The thought of healing my master until he is happy and healthy…gives me strength to continue on!"

"_Master!"_ Mir cries desperately, wings flapping agitatedly matching his distress. "We can't leave it all alone in the dark cave all by itself like this! If we leave him, I'll be _so sad_ that I won't eat _dinner_!"

And that's serious.

Evan bends down to the fallen puppet hands on his knees. "Is it okay if I can carry you to your master?" He waves toward the rest of the cave, the distance eaten in darkness, unrevealing its true size. "My mom taught me how to do first aid and you look really tired…"

"Oh no, you shouldn't! You did so much for me and my master already! I'll feel bad if you do anymore than you have done for us already…"

Evan sweeps up the puppet, holding it like a baby, its little wooden arms over his shoulder. "It's okay! Just tell me how to get to your master so we can help him out!"

The puppet protests. "B-But – "

"We're friends now! And when we meet your master, we can be friends with him too," Mir says quickly to cut off the puppet. Then he pauses, his eyes widening and Evan swears he sees something glittering in them. "Friends! I am friends with another being who is not master!"

The puppet is forever expressionless, but all its emotion is in its soft voice. "W-We're friends?"

Mir nods firmly. "Yeah, we're friends!"

For a wooden toy, it feels very human, making sniffling noises into Evan's shoulder as the boy walks deeper into the tunnel cave. Evan tries not to feel intimidated by the very pointy, moist yellow stalactites hanging high above him, focusing on the puppet's squeaky words. "I-I'm not sad. I'm really happy! M-Master had many enemies who beat him up so much that he has to make m-many hideouts to be safe!"

Mir flies closer down behind Evan, looking straight to the puppet. "Why does your master have many enemies?"

_Why does he have a really creepy hideout too?_ Evan keeps to himself. Right there in the middle of nowhere, between the road from the Six Paths Crossway to Perion where it's really bright and hot and everything but the monsters is _dead_. "Mir? Can you do your fireball thingy in front of me? I can't really see that much…"

The young Onyx Dragon maneuvers in front of Evan, blasting a stream of flames into the darkness. Evan sees it collide against the end of the cave, which isn't that far. The remnants of the fire stick to the rocky wall, creating a natural, weak torch. But it's enough to reveal a tunnel that goes downwards. Cautiously, Evan approaches to the edge of the hole, relieved to see a ladder to climb down.

He tests the ladder and confirms that it's _not_ going to break under him. "Okay little guy, hold on tight."

Evan climbs down as Mir flaps close to him, just in case he falls. It's really good to have Mir by his side or else Evan would be panicking. He hasn't really liked heights since he fell to the secret forest below the farm where Mir's egg was. Falling is _not _fun.

The curious dragon continues his questions. "Does your master do lots of dangerous stuff?"

The puppet replies. "He has to. He's part of this big secret organization where they do bunch of good stuff." A small whimper. "But there are lots of bad guys against the organization so they attack Master a lot."

_Then the organization isn't really _that_ secretive if they know your master belongs to it_. Evan thinks wryly, once again keeping it to himself. He glances below him and Mir blows another stream of fire before Evan asks. A platform - Evan can jump off from this height and be okay.

"Oof!"

"Sorry!" Evan hastily apologizes to the puppet. He should be more careful with it. "By the way, what organization does your master belong to?" _I don't know any adventurer that would use puppets_. _Which means its master could be from a specialized instructional school or belongs to a whole different organization._

"Hmmmm," the marionette thinks out loud. "I don't remember, sorry."

"It's okay." Evan says, already mentally raking through a list of organizations that Mr. Phantom provided three days ago. Evan's sure he can cross of the "Alchemists" and the "Sand Bandits" from the list since they center in Nihal Desert. The Cygnus Knights aren't really that secretive so they're out too. Then maybe it's either the Silent Crusade or the Resistance since they both do good things in secret.

Evan's train of thought stops as the puppet in his arms wiggle out. "I have to say the password!"

The little mage focuses his sight again, his mind wandering for him to really concentrate on reality. All he sees in front of him is a dead end. He puts the puppet down though.

The wooden doll wobbles in front of the dead end, speaking loud and clear. "Francis is a genius puppeteer!" _And really, that's the password? _

Evan quickly shields his eyes from the flash of light, Mir huddling close to him. He blinks when it fades, looking back to the dead end. Against the once blank wall is a door.

"My master is inside that room," the puppet says, waving towards it. "Open the door! I promise there're no booby traps, stun barriers, or anything like that!"

Evan is bewildered. Paranoid much? Still, the dragon master turns the bronze knob and gently opens the door with Mir following closely behind him.

"Hello?" Evan calls out into the darkness. He's met with a scream.

* * *

The sun is rising and he did not have a wink of sleep. Frankly though, he does not care. It's becoming routine, to speed through his quests for the augury, then sleep for days in Serenity during which his light mana well starts reforming inside his center.

And he shall do it again tonight, when he hunts down a hundred lucidas and toss their bodies off the island. What a distasteful, morbid quest.

Nonetheless, he forces his weary eyes awake. Instead, Luminous walks back on the main path, distracting his exhaustion by the view. The gardens are covered in a layer of fresh dew, painted one side of Orbis in warm yellows and reds, accentuating the dark ultramarine shadows on the other side. The mage hasn't processed much of his senses while fighting, but now he notices a soft, sweet scent perfuming the air. Flowers, most likely the pink roses and violet carnations the gardeners somehow stitched onto vines, dressing the various potted trees with them. A blanket of mist, the beginning of clouds slide around the mage's boots, covered in dirt and grass stains along with his white robes; a small consequence for impatience. But according to Kriel, the lucidas are a territorial, arrogant species that would infest in the same area no matter how weak or powerful their "guests" are.

He halts in front of a white gate. There's a hum, like an energy wave curving over his flesh. Thick, prickling, and hot. Respectively: concentrated numbers, an easily provocative mood, and quite dangerous; it pumps his blood, erasing the remnants of his drowsiness. He's here.

Luminous teleports, flashes of soft blue light alerting the inhabitants inside this particular section of the gardens. He hears a few simultaneous growls, and appears on top of a floating platform, skipping over the given ladder. Lucidas creep out into the open, behind the blue-green bushes or burrowed deep in the clouds at the edge of the floating roads. The light mage waits for the numbers to increase, for his outsider scent to spread. It does not take long for a hundred small, black faces growl up to him; backs arching, fur standing on ends, a few start yowling for Luminous to either leave or battle them on equal ground.

The mage studies the distance from the floating platform in which he stands and the ground where the lucidas stand. Judging that it's close enough, Luminous begins his one-sided conflict. He calls forth the power of light and an energy ball slices across the heads of a few lucidas cleanly below him. They fall without a sound, but the thuds of their bodies have ignited the fury of the clowder. They attempt, yet fail to climb the ladder to reach Luminous in their blind anger, merely scratching the white metal. But the others are bit sharper and shoot their wrath in the form of bloody red vexes that could actually reach his height. Luminous frowns, when a vex hits the edge of the platform, an ashy spot concentrated with dark magic – not as deep and corrosive as the Black Mage's, but still dark magic. Of course.

He teleports off the platform – useless to stay in one spot if the vexes can still reach him – and floats in midair to summon multiple celestial gateways to rain heavenly arrows, all piercing into the obsidian fur even though they have no physical form. The front line has faltered, breaking the coordination of the lucidas as a whole, and Luminous takes the opportunity to use the _Blinding Pillar. _The knockback spell isn't as large as it used to be, but it's enough to stun a good number of lucidas. The ones that are pouncing fall, features frozen, on top of their fellow kin.

But Luminous does not move fast enough and one of the Lucida's vex hits him in the back, but he does not care. He feels his mana well lessen slightly, but it's nothing a blue potion can fix later. Undeterred, Luminous uses his staff as a whip again, repeating the motion and wraps around as many lucidas he can, pumping more magic into his medium. The Light does the strength work for him, and he flings the group of lucidas in the air, over the edge of the cloud hugged gardens. They don't return.

_Fourteen_, he estimates. Including the ones he killed earlier, twenty two. He'll just have to clean up the gardens afterwards.

The remaining lucidas are registering Luminous's intent, and they take a few steps back, retreating slowly, unsure. Only when one yowls at the others that they finally turn tails and flee, retreating back into their dens. The mage gives chase. But no matter how fast he teleports, he doesn't seem to be getting closer to any one of them.

Unthinkingly, the mage aims his shining rod to a devil shaped tail shrinking among the thick, leafy bushes, without a specific spell in mind –

If Luminous was tired before, he isn't now.

It happens again. The creeping of black magic that sneaks away from his notice like a bad habit, a rotten instinct, and Luminous's eyes widen as the sliver of Darkness leaves from the tip of the shining rod because it doesn't matter if it's at a monster or not, _something always goes wrong._ The magic zaps through the bushes and Luminous immediately teleports a few paces away, because every time, _every damn time_, there's always a disaster – an explosion, a crater, a mass of purple, toxic fog, a storm of summoned, raven chains. Each time, a novel and terrifying experience.

Arms shielding his face, because he will not flee but he dares not to look away from his sin…except it's quiet. Just the usual huffs of the rolling cumulus clouds around the island. Curious, he steps closer because nothing is happe - ?

A burst of crimson fills his vision, and he yelps, the wave of heat knocking him back on the ground. The sky is on fire, suffocating black smoke devouring the oxygen ravenously. Balls of flames, like comets, shoot from the wall of hellfire, transforming the surrounding vegetation into mini-pyres. From the corner of his eyes, Luminous sees the lucidas screeching and panicking, their black bodies becoming ashes as they toss themselves off the island – _that's one way to finish the job – _but the mage is awed by this-this _pure, unadulterated devastation_.

_Hurting Lania wasn't this bad. _Luminous gapes in open horror._ Could it be my Darkness is becoming stronger?_

A scream, except Luminous realizes that the scream was always there, merely becoming louder – loud enough to be heard over the crackling inferno. Despite the sheer heat, Luminous's blood runs cold because the scream doesn't sound like it belongs to a monster. _Human_.

The single thought driving him into action, the mage teleports, only for the air to leave him too quick – _no oxygen! _Gulping, he dashes, over lacerated brick rocks and ash layered soil, only to pause when the screaming becomes coherent.

Barely a second later, Luminous is flat on his back. Groaning, because there are rocks digging deeply into his spine and he tries to move his arms, except he can't? They're pinned by his side – actually, his whole body is pinned down. The mage opens his eyes, gritting, and a pair of furious eyes reminiscent of blue suns meets him. The inferno blazes so brightly behind the person above him that the stranger's front is shadowed, but Luminous does not mistake the strange dark outline augmenting from the figure. The stranger snarls, revealing a set of canines larger than any human normally have.

"What in the blazes…," a rumble begins quietly, betraying the belying eruption. "…did you do. TO MY _WING_!?"

* * *

**A/N**: The first chapter is probably one of the very few chapters that will feature all of the Heroes' POVs. I wanted to illustrate where all the Heroes are in their storylines for those who have played through their quest lines. Again, please understand that this is an AU and the storylines that you are familiar with will not be the same.

(3-18-13)**:** I am now putting footnotes. Ignore if you don't care ^^

1) I am using Luminous's dark side path for this story. Besides that, I don't think I need to allude the Heroes' and the Novans' questlines since it's a given that there will be spoilers. That and I'll twist their storylines anyway.

2) Hersha in an NPC in Ellinia that gives out quests out of paranoia. If you're a Cygnus Knight and do his quests, you'd realize that his paranoia is sometimes justified.

Thank you for reading.


	3. Where the river meets the ocean

**Part 1**

**Chapter 2**

**Where the river meets the ocean**

The air feels thick with the window shut, cutting off the already little ventilation in the room and Aran opens it, no need for permission. The odor is musty, of aged paper competing against the scent of the ocean that rolls in Tru's Info Shop, which is messier than usual. The shelves are overflowing of colored scrolls, some not even completely rolled up. The candles inside the pair of Mu Lung paper lanterns hanging above the entrance are spilling fresh wax on the wooden floor. They shine over the desk, the surface so laden with tied up scrolls and towering stacks of papers that she can't see the surface. Ink bottles are strewn over a few piles, the desk's activity tucked around the detailed globe of Maple World that sits in the corner of the table proudly. But the eye-popping feature of the shop is the map of Victoria Island plastered on the back wall with notes tacked on it, hastily scribbled red arrows pointing towards various locations with small memos below few of them. The magnifying glass is focused on the center.

The shop owner himself offers a quick greeting at Aran's entrance before rushing to the corner to drop off a pot full of untouched books by the heavy, white vault. Aran waits patiently. It seems the older man barely has any time to rest: dark greasy hair in a messy ponytail under a dusty Rien cap and wrinkled, slept-on clothing. Which is actually how he looks like normally, now that Aran thinks about it, but this time he looks more haggard. It's his shoulders, sloping downward like there are stones on top of them and if Aran didn't have a job to do she would have left and come back later.

Instead she states the obvious. "I've never seen you this busy." Tru passes her the third time across the room to drop another box off in the corner.

"You have no idea," Tru quips a little breathless. "I've got news reporter amateurs and tourists coming to me. They've been asking nonstop about the new portal in the Six-Paths Crossway."

"A new portal?"

Tru waves his hand nonchalantly. "Nothing special. Really, the portal has been there for months but it opens and closes so fast that anyone barely noticed it." Another forced inhale as Tru heaves up another pot-full of scrolls. Aran relieves the pot from Tru's hands, the man muttering a small thanks, a sign that he's been _really_ busy. "It's only because the Cygnus Knights are guarding the spot that people are getting interested."

As Aran continues helping Tru moving the pots, she asks, "Is it something I should look into?" But if the Cygnus Knights are looking into it, then Aran may not need to after all.

"If you want to. It's just sitting right below Port Road, but it's not that important," Tru responds, putting away the last of the pots. Finally, he slumps into his creaky chair behind the desk, massaging his sore arms. "What's more important is searching for the seal stones. Speaking of which, I hear that there's one in Orbis an – "

Aran holds up a hand, cutting the informant off mid-sentence. "I'm not searching for the seal stones anymore. I'm here for information on demons."

Tru's countenance twists into one of confusion. Aran doesn't blame him. It's quite a jump, from seal stones to demons.

"Not searching? Demons? What the - the _Black Wings_," he says, emphasis on the "Black Wings" as if he's reminding Aran of the organization's importance and honestly, just because Aran forgot her past, doesn't mean she'll forget everything else. "- Are collecting the seal stones. The seal stones must be important." The unvoiced question, "_So why are they pointless to search for?"_

The warrior nods. "That's what I thought." And she still thinks so, most likely from being so determined to do so in the first place, but… "But as long as we have one of the seal stones, the Black Wings can't do what they plan to do with them." She doesn't like to categorize what's productive and what's not and maybe she can go back to searching for the seal stones, just for something to do when this is over.

A blank stare. "How can you be so sure of that?"

"The other heroes told me."

Tru chokes, entering a coughing fit, nearly falling off his chair. Again, Aran waits patiently for the man to become coherent again. Eyes bulging, the informant exclaims, "THE OTHER HEROES!?"

The glaive-user shrugs. "I've met them." And they didn't have amnesia. Unlike Aran who had to wake up and try to figure everything out on her own and – no. _No more on that_. She's using Lilin's voice for this, because whether it's inside her head or outside of her head, the strict little girl's lecturing voice sometimes _scares_ Aran back to attention. Among all else, Aran really needs to stop dwelling into _that_. She'll never get anything done at this rate.

"The other heroes!" Tru is pulling down the sides of his furry cap in comical anguish. "Why didn't you tell me!? Oh my god, they're really coming back…"

Slightly deflated, the informant grumbles, "It would have been nice if I got some autographs. Especially Mercedes's. The honors list in Rien's Library said she won the Fairest Fairy Pageant – and she didn't even sign up for it! She must be one hell of a beauty."

Sparkling lake water eyes flashes in Aran's mind. "It was a last second, private meeting."

It was. A sudden invitation from Neinheart just a week before the meeting, to explain the situation and Mercedes's wish vaguely. No set time or date, as if the ones at the other side weren't so sure of it either. The second letter arrived the same morning of the Legends gathering. Aran had to deal with one irate Lilin during the flight to Ereve, who was blaming her "stupid, _stupid_ brother" for the late notice.

Tru stretched his neck. "No use moping over it now. Give me a second – I remember keeping track of some demon stuff somewhere here..." He riffles through the documents lying on his desk, occasionally crumbling one and tossing it into the wastebasket. Aran holds up a hand to the waves of dust puffing out under untouched papers, cringing with she sees more than one spiders crawl away from the towering stacks. Tru must have been _busy_.

"So demons, eh?" Tru's voice trills behind the desk, the sounds of opening drawers reaching Aran's ears. They've been up to no good lately…"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Demons usually live in the very south of Minar Forest, where there's less humans and more dragons, where they eat up all the humans anyway – ah! Found it!" The informant pops back into view with a yellow folder of papers, clipped together neatly, a huge contrast with the sloppy shop.

"Here, that's do," Tru says with triumph as Aran skims through the contents. "Like I said, the known demons live in Minar Forest. But you read the messes they've been causing, you'd notice that they're all in –"

"Victoria Island," Aran finishes. "Neinheart told me."

The warrior frowns, flipping back and forth between newspaper clippings and the occasional page on analysis, double-checking. "Are some of these even related to demons?" Animals gobbling up humans to become humans. Crimson Balrogs attacking not only the ships to and from Orbis, but all ships that arrive to Port Road. Increased kidnappings, especially of young girls, by shadowed beings. Sudden earthquakes. Each event, so different from each other that Aran cannot understand what they have in common.

"They're all demon stuff," Tru insists, tapping a finger on the folder for emphasis. "It's a problem with them. They don't have subcategories, subraces – nothing! Nothing we know that can separate them from monsters."

"Then how do you know they're all 'demon stuff'?" Aran returns looking up, only flinching back a loud thud bangs on the table, papers fluttering and drifting off the table. Dazed, she watches Tru fervently flipping through a thick tome, so old that the pages are more brown than ochre as if black coffee drenched the whole work and was never wiped away. Thin moustache twitching, the older man grins like a cat. "Come on Aran, take a look – this is a really, _really_ rare book about demons and the messed up things they did in the past." Fingers as bookmarks, the man slowly flips from one tale to another, letting the warrior drink in the knowledge.

"I see," the glaive-user whispers, understanding. "They are all events similar to the ones that have occurred lately." But some of them could be coincidences. Unfortunately, kidnapping young girls is not uncommon.

_Still_, Aran thinks distastefully at a graphic picture of a flock of chickens pecking at a human. The next panel shows the same chickens evolving into chicken-like humans. _I wouldn't be surprised if animals started eating humans because demons encourage them to. It awfully sounds like a demon thing to do._ "I believe you Tru, but…where do I even start? Is there a certain place in Victoria Island where they frequent?"

Tru waves for Aran to give him back the yellow folder. "Let me make a score chart, wait a bit, yeah?"

He takes out another piece of paper, his fountain pen listing the towns and specific roads, scratching in tally marks as he shifts through the incidents. Aran walks behind Tru, supervising his work. "It seems there are more 'demon sightings' in the Six-Paths Crossway than anywhere else," she comments.

The man marks three tally marks next to Ellinia's name. "Here too. The fairies there are probably better eye witnesses than the actual people in the Six-Paths Crossway. They probably know what demons are better than we do."

Tru clucks his tongue. "Still, I don't think it's the Six-Paths Crossway. Cygnus Knights and the portal, remember? Unless the demons are trying to pick a bone with them, but I don't think they're _that_ stupid to confront them."

"Then not the Crossway. Maybe it's Sleepywood."

Tru nods. "That's what I think too. How about you check out the town and ask around the locals? Don't be shy – everyone likes to tell stories. I'll stay here and try to find what a bunch of demons want from Victoria Island."

Swiping the yellow folder off the desk as references, Aran whirls her back to Tru, prepared to buckle down and get to work. Head over her shoulder, she gives a grateful smile to the informant," I'll go check out Ellinia afterwards too. And I'll tell you what happens when I'm done."

The informant laughs as the warrior closes the door behind her. "You better, Aran! Stories are the best thing about this job."

* * *

Luminous automatically thrusts his shining rod up to shove the stranger off, but the grip on his arms are much stronger, strengthening the more he struggles. Conspicuous wings and horns and eyes with a unearthly glow to them – it's a spawn of the wretched species and the Light mage hisses around the black smoke forcibly entering his lungs. "Demon!" he coughs out. "Release me this instant!"

"Saber, _why_ does everyone think I'm a demon?" the person above him grumbles. "Get it in your hornless skull - I'm NOT a demon! I'm part-dragon."

_So claimed a certain commander long ago and he massacred a thousand Halflings in Leafre. _

The demon, as Luminous adamantly labels him so, expands his right wing, dark red scales highlighted in the flames that burn behind him but if Luminous looks closely, he can see a black, rotting spot. Crumbling scales like dying charcoals squeeze among the gleaming dark red like a toxin spreading. "Hey jerk, you see my wing – my really awesome _dragon_ wing?" the demon child punctuates through clenched jaws though his face is proud. "That's your stupid magical infection crap right? _Fix it_."

A prominent death glare before silently calling for his light orb; the precious protective charm of Aurora swiftly knocks the child above him, a tiny, glowing tornado whirling into the demon's side a good few yards away from the Light mage. Teeth bearing, the demon growls, attempting to push the small orb away. "Get it off me!"

The Light mage summons the orb back, which obediently complies, flying back to the mage and orbiting adoringly around him. The flames make the shadows darker but with a good distance he can see his new foe properly. Light blue hair, a foot shorter than the mage, a boyish face; a child in Luminous's eyes, but a strong one who can wield a two-handed jagged sword that's nearly the same height as he. The demon brings a blade to Luminous's eye level, a spark leaving the slick metal.

The Light mage narrows his eyes. So the insane conflagration came from this individual, not Luminous, and he ignores the relief that rips through him. The mage is still isn't safe, it takes an immense amount of demon fury to provide that sheer amount of destruction and the demon boy doesn't look exhausted at all. No matter how skillful Luminous is, this will not be an easy battle.

The demon huffs with an arrogant scowl. "Look, I don't want to fight you." _No, you don't._ "I just want to get this cured and go on my way 'cause it was an accident, right? And I wouldn't be here if I knew a freaking cure potion's gonna do it. But it's your stupid magic so you're the only one who knows how to fix it, get it?" He ends with a final note so liken to a teacher lecturing a student that it worsens Luminous's already low opinion of him.

"Have experience?" the mage returns wryly.

Bright blue eyes roll before thumbing at the wing, slightly wincing when it twitches. "I think it's pretty freaking obvious that dark magic's a bit too strong for a potion to do it, thanks."

"Dark magic?" Luminous echoes stupidly and it dawns to him, the unfortunate implications and of course. _Of course._ Leave it to Luminous's luck to encounter the member of the one race that can sense the Black Mage's touch so easily and damn it, if this swordsman tells his brethren this particular piece of information…

Resolute, Luminous walks forward, the dual headed staff swaying by his side, the demon before him looking unsure all of a sudden – _and should be, he won't leave here alive_.

The Light mage whispers," You're right. It was an accident. I didn't mean to perform it." With a flick of the wrist, light flashes, and Luminous has the glimpse of wide eyes before the swordsman shouts when his wings collide the ground.

"But I believe it's not entirely regrettable," he adds towering the downed swordsman. "- if it's causing you immense pain, demon." Luminous has consumed a substantial amount of mana and has no blue potion, didn't expect this though he should have known better to be underprepared. He can't afford to be too creative with his skills…but if he must resort using his tainted, undesirable _gift_ to kill off the Black Mage's allies, well, the irony only makes it more satisfying.

"_Satisfying?" And it's justified, if it's used to kill another person, is it?_

Not a person. A demon. _A lowlife. _

_Then is she the same? Since she writhed in agony while you abandoned her to parade your newfound powers - _

"Do you have ashes in your ears!?" the boy thunders back abruptly cutting Luminous's train of thought. The mage loathes that he feels grateful for it. "I'm not a demon! I'm Kaiser, Defender Savior of Nova – awesomeness and epicness bundled up in one legendary hero package. Know me?"

Automatically, the mage replies flatly, "Where?" Though it's useless, his mind is made up, already pouring mana little by little into the shining rod.

"_Nova_," the demon called Kaiser repeats standing up hastily, his proud face shadowed. "Inter-dimensional portal in Victoria Island between Maple World and Grandis? Where everyone's part-dragon like me and – will you _stop_ pointing that thing at me while _I'm_ trying my best to be nice and _not_ to fry you!?"

Inter-dimensional portal – the greatest nonsense Luminous has heard yet. He hisses. "How generous coming from the one who's burning the lucida gardens without a thought." And still burning, terrible and free like a true wildfire. The flames gain all that cannot be perished: the brick laid path and the white garden décor and the flames have already embraced them black. There's heat beating him from all sides, but it's not bad, not as bad as before and he can handle this environment.

The swordsman, who appears perfectly fine with the inhumane temperature, swirls his head around as if noticing the flames for the first time.

"Whoops." Simple and calm, with a hint of bashfulness, because clearly the child doesn't care of the destruction he breeds. A typical spawn of the poison race. "Seriously, I really didn't mean to do all that."

Instantly, Luminous strikes first, shining rod releasing another beam and Kaiser jumps back instinctively, face contorting to surprise after his body moves. Luminous closes the space between them with another teleport, murmuring a soft spell. He appears behind Kaiser to hold the swordsman in place when celestial arrows storm into the open chest. Kaiser shouts and his elbow stabs backwards into Luminous's stomach, fiery blue eyes fierce. The warrior hops up, leaving behind a circle of flames with Luminous in the safe eye. The only available escape, Luminous flashes upward, only to meet a sword slashing down above him except the light mage is already step further. Straight from the textbook - Luminous releases a _Blinding Pillar_ and watches, satisfied, as the swordsman is flying backwards.

"Light!" Luminous calls and the shining rod muster a whip of light that enwraps the demon's form in midair, who cries out as Luminous swings him in the ground. He struggles to lift the whip up, realizing that Kaiser deliberately stabbing his sword into the ground. Through his visible pain, the swordsman beats his wings, gritting fangs and Luminous nearly yelps at the sheer force of the wind. The excited flames cheer as the Light mage falters, the light whip returns back to his staff once the mage turns it vertical, trying not to be blown away.

During that sliver of inaction, the demon warrior speeds into Luminous's space, using the blunt side of his sword to whack the mage on the side of his head. The mage feels something warm and wet dribbling down his forehead from the impact. "Please," he pleads, "I don't want to hurt you." The voice is wrong with those wings and horns, but Luminous isn't naïve as he used to be and casts another spell reflexively. Cold eyes lose their edge when the boy accepts the hit, still staring back to Luminous.

_What kind of demon speaks like that?_

One that's afraid. One that weak, one that speaks in silver tongue - just like all of them except they hide it better than this boy, behind masked pride and honeyed words. The pathetic fools, trying so hard to appease a god that won't bestow them even the slightest respect, as if the Black Mage would share power to anyone.

_How do you know? How do you _truly_ know?_

His orb swishes in front of the demon's face with a blinding light. The demon yelps, rubbing his eyes furiously, unable to see Luminous transforming the shining rod into a large, golden arm brace. It's been a long time since he's done any advanced summoning and he's pleased when two glowing magic circles, a smaller one within a bigger, appear from brace, the ancient runes enwrapping the blue lines in the air.

_How can he not?_ A tendency for destruction that mirrors in the flames, that ominous sword, and the appearance - a glass shard to the devil himself.

Luminous admits, the demon had been enduring his offensive light magic well, but eventually he will fall. Every single one of them did. Mercilessly, Luminous pulls the _Spectral Light_ to Kaiser, who receives the direct end of the attack – _and he's not dodging them what's going on?_

Then the air leaves him.

It's not the lack of oxygen in this brimstone battlefield. It's his mana depleting too quickly too fast and he's on his knees, gasping. His staff swirls in one spot until he claps his hand on it. He's straining his mana well too much, but he's done that plenty of times already, shouldn't be an issue. Mismatched eyes widen.

Crimson sparks of black magic crackle over his arms, crooning, so eager to cross over. He can feel its thirst to corrupt and why, _why_ does he care about this again, when he has already done so much to the point that it doesn't matter? He's been in his stupor for so long to be surprised to see a pair of boots in front of him, kneeling. Kaiser puts his sword on the ground, his hand clutching his shoulder on the side that shares his corrupted wing. But his free hand is out to Luminous. The Light mage stares.

"…You're not exactly okay, are you?" He's looking at Luminous as if he's a pitiful, stray animal and that's what this is. How sickening. To receive this humiliating falsehood from a demon.

The anger must be on his face because Kaiser puts his hands up in surrender as Luminous concentrates splitting his mana, overturning it and pushing it – he doesn't know how effective dark magic would be on a demon but if he wants to end this quickly he needs more Light magic. Kaiser sees through him, exclaiming, "whoa man, stop for a minute!"

He's having second thoughts, because Luminous is on a different level than him even if he's at his weakest. The mage swings back a line of magic bullets, but the demon shoots upward in time, quickly speaking. "If it's the fire that's bothering you, then I can take them back!" And then he does the one action no foe has done thus far to the Light mage: voluntarily turning his back to him to face the dancing flames that Luminous hesitates. "Look, I got this!"

With a vigor he hasn't displayed to the Light mage, the swordsman begins slicing through the shadowed air, so heavy with smoke that Luminous's eyes sting. Yet they persistently stay open to keep track of the child who confronts the inferno, slashing left and right in rapid speeds… and what is he doing – _fighting the fire_? A ridiculous notion, possibly stalling time for a more insidious purpose…but there's a difference. Mismatched eyes widen as the flames seem _smaller_. Receding, crawling back to their owner and the Light mage realizes that Kaiser's blade is eating the flames, the soft yellow glow emitting from both blade and wielder. What strange magic.

But the fires have marked their immense damage on the once vivid gardens are scorched. It's very dark and very silent now as if all life has disappeared. The air is still heavy with inky smog but if Luminous looks past the blanket he can see the blush of dawn beaming softly on the remaining vegetation that edge the humongous circle of death where Luminous and Kaiser stand. The collateral damage is heavy.

The boy grins when the last drop of flame is licked up, the damage unworthy for evaluation for those uncaring bright blue eyes. "That's what you were worried about, right? I forgot that humans and fire don't mix." A laugh. "Sorry for that – I wasn't really thinking."

As if Luminous wasn't trying to kill him minutes ago, the child approaches Luminous with a hand out again. "This is what you Maplings do, right? Handshake for peace and stuff?" The mage takes a weary step back, igniting a frown on that proud face.

"Oh come on! I take back the fire, you take back your curse thingy, everyone wins and does whatever the blazes he wants after. Besides, you started the whole crap in the first place – I'm just calling for truce 'cause I'm awesome like that."

Luminous doesn't know what to make out of this. "What _are _you?" He asks. It _has_ to be a trick but who does this?

"Kaiser. I'm the freaking almighty Kaiser. Guess it doesn't really matter if you don't know what that means though," he says with a roll of eyes so profound it could slow the world's orbit, "you're pretty strong by the way, but I like my wing. Can you take the curse back now?"

Something about this situation is familiar but Luminous can't place it. He's hot, exhausted, but he rummages through his half-awake mind for the connection, maybe something that happened before the sealing. With one of the Black Mage's commanders.

The final ground skirmish, a smorgasbord in hell. They were stationed at the edge of a dying Leafre, waiting for Freud to give the signal to begin the offensive back at the swarm, a black wave scarring the horizon. Monsters and hoblins on the ground, dragons and their counterparts in the air. Below the clouds, where the source of all darkness sat in his massive throne, were the two unholy commanders leading the inevitable grand slaughter…

Luminous blinks. Before him the fiery blue eyes wait, the hand still out.

Peace. What a cruel joke. He can't believe it.

Luminous's fingerless glove grasps the offering hand, forcing as much mana as he can before the swordsman retracts his hand, the smoke sizzling from the Light scald flesh. Kaiser looks at it, slack jawed, as if he's more shocked in the refusal than the pain. "Oh Saber," Kaiser says in hushed disbelief, "you are officially _the_ greatest jackass in Maple World next to the backstabber. That's one blazing accomplishment."

Luminous couldn't react properly in time when a jagged blade slices across his chest, the burst of red filling his vision when he teleports two paces away, only to see Kaiser behind him already, the pupils into slits and damn - _he's fast!_ Luminous kicks off in the air, steel piercing where his neck was, ruthless and Kaiser snarls, appearing less of a child as he continues dashing towards Luminous with lightning quick swings, the speed completely different than it was before.

Light mage holds his wet chest, the cut shallow but long, and mismatched eyes wide at the ferocious fighter.

_He's been holding back the entire time._

"WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL!?" Kaiser roars and Luminous had his shining rod up in time for the two-handed sword strikes down on the white bar, the mage plunging straight to the ground like a shockwave, the force too much. It's not Luminous's scream that slices the air - it's Kaiser's, the boy landing the ground harshly grasping his shoulder. His wing is half black with purple faced weeping blisters all over the limb, the thin membrane showing spider webs of obsidian veins – _disgusting_ - and the swordsman groans, kneeling with his wing twitching. Desperate gasps fill the morning air.

It's a temporary respite but Luminous knows better to depend on it, mismatches eyes narrowing. Aching bones, an empty mana well, Luminous is truly at his limit and he grabs his loyal light orb, draining it its mana before tucking it into his pocket. It provides just enough life into his limbs but to attempt to fight back is foolish. Luminous needs to retreat while the demon is down.

_And if he to return to his masters?_

Paranoia. Not once Kaiser showed any signs of recognizing Luminous and if there's one thing the mage learned in the past four years in this world is that he's invisible as long as he chooses to and really, he's in _no_ condition to fight.

The dark mana says otherwise. It's smaller than it used to be but it begs Luminous to tap into it, that it's enough to silence the demon forever, he just has to use it, allow it, and it'll protect the its master –

_With no light magic to counteract its darker properties? It'll end up hurting you. _Thank god that his logic shines through from the recesses of his exhausted state.

"Demon," Luminous spits out angrily, half-expecting his voice to waver. Kaiser glances up, wincing and huffing, as if breathing has become difficult. "Consider yourself fortunate. If you don't die from the toxin that is."

The Light mage vanishes from battle, teleporting back to town.

* * *

Only at the Six-Paths Crossway one can see the various sights Victoria Island offers. The road is bustling with activity even during this late afternoon; merchants, travelers, professionals and adventurers pass by Aran, lofty ambitions and dreams ahead of them. A couple passes by her, arms hooked and faces close, chatting excitedly about Florina Beach in their way to Lith Harbor. White cabs – the only vehicles allowed in the Six-Paths Crossway next to the privileged rich, drive to the west for Ellinia, where the beanstalks hide its magical town to itself. A young boy bumps into her and he mutters an apology as he dashes northeast to Kerning City, where the town's dense pollution successfully blurs its renowned skyscrapers.

She hides a grin as she watches a few tourists leaving the crumbling, arid mountains of Perion rushing towards the rustic Henesys, panting and sweating and relieved at the sight of the colonies of humble fungus clumping by the entrance. But her lips curve, a group of children playing heroes at the grass by the side of the busy road, whacking the spores with their sticks. If only Lilin is as carefree as they.

As the glaive-user approaches to the entrance of Sleepywood, she gazes at the stock still, stoic Cygnus Knights guarding the experts sorting through the scattered, white portal sustainment equipment dedicatedly. They're high above the ground, all on a wide, temporary wooden platform jutting obviously from the side of the Port Road Tree. People with cameras are taking pictures of them from long below.

Aran looks at the Perion guard in front of Sleepywood's entrance, who's dozing off in the middle of the job. Behind him is yellow caution tape tied to both sides of the entryway as if the entire town is a crime scene. The glaive-user taps the guard's shoulder lightly, but he continues to sleep standing up. She finally shakes him with bit more vigor, which does the trick.

"Wai – wha?" The guard jumps. His voice bounces from the inside of his helmet, a distinct sound from the background clamoring of the crowds around them. "Ah, um, Luke reporting to duty, sir! Not sleepin' or any – oh, wait," he settles down, yawning. "You're just a citizen." As if he doesn't have a job to do, a task in hand he doesn't have to accomplish. He rubs his neck under his metal helmet, "Sorry, there's no going to Sleepywood for this week."

_I can see that. _"Why?" she inquires.

"An attack," Luke says smacking his lips. "Another Curbrock schmuck happening again except this time it's a chipmunk. It ate a kid yesterday." A heavy exhale deep with mourning. "Monks need all the concentration they can get to 'perish the evil' but damn it all, what the hell is this world coming to?" The last part is quiet, more to himself than to Aran, who tightens her fists.

According to the yellow folder, animals eating humans to become humans seems to becoming common lately and Aran can't help but wonder why they would go so far, to be so desperate to change species, as if being a human offers anything at all.

She quickly flips through the Tru's recorded demon activity events to a specific page – she's having strange thoughts and the best way to clear her mind is to get down and work. "I have some questions about what happened to Sleepywood that I hope you can answer. Is that okay?"

"Uh yeah, sure," comes an uncomfortable reply. "I don't know if I can answer all of them but I'll try."

"Thank you. Were you there when Curbrock attacked Sleepywood last month?" A red snake that ate an average of five humans a week in the path between Kerning City and Sleepywood. The Chief Bandit that took him down described Curbrock as the unholy marriage of reptile and human. He had limbs and used hexes like a warlock.

"Not really." Another dead-end. "You should ask Sabitrama about that next week. Heard he was the one who got attacked."

"Oh, okay." Another page flip. "Then what about the kidnapping of twelve year old Marcia this month?"

"Er, was she a blonde and from Henesys?"

Aran looks back at the paper, reading aloud. "Marcia and her mother were leaving Sleepywood Hotel until Marcia needed to go back to get her doll. That was when she disappeared. Witnesses state that they have seen a person in black holding a silent child in front of Sleepywood. She had blue hair," Aran finishes. A deeper shade than Lilin's actually and the warrior feels the righteous fury bubbling up, threatening to break her composure. To kidnap an innocent child_. _Her mother must have been distraught.

Luke sighs. "Don't know about it either but maybe Mike knows about it. He's the guard inside Sleepywood Town."

Which she can't go so that's not an option. "Were you there when the earthquake happened last week?"

The guard goes quiet, the grass suddenly becoming interesting. He looks awkward and Aran pushes, determined. "Did something…strange happen?"

Luke shakes his head, but he's blowing up his cheeks as if he desperately wants to say something. When Aran remains silent, simply waiting, the guard gives in, bending his head a little closer. "Look, I haven't told anyone else but my best man Mike and he called me nuts," his voice is lower, as if he's going to tell a secret and maybe he is. "So promise me that you won't judge after I tell you what I think, okay?" Intrigued, Aran nods, drawing closer."Okay, before the earthquake last week, Sleepywood had two more the week before that. But they were small so we all thought that they came from the copper drakes acting up. Population increasing and someone just needs to put them down – the usual."

"So we hired some adventurers to kill off some drakes, right? It wasn't long until we learned that the drakes weren't doing shit so we thought it came from the dungeons. Then we sent a few more adventurers down there and they told us nothing's off than the dungeons would be. Finally, I had to go and check what was going on – lost in rock, paper, scissors," Luke adds grumbling. "I went further out in the forest than usual and I found these hugeass cracks all over the ground. That's when I realized the whole shit's not natural."

The glaive-user asks, "What made you think like that? It's only natural for earthquakes to cause cracks."

"Yeah I know, but I _saw_ something," the guard says in a hushed tone, a little excited. "I don't know what it is but it's huge as hell and it moves underground."

"You mean like a new monster?" _A demon?_

He nods. "That's what I think but I never seen anything like it before. Actually I really couldn't see that much. I just know that it was one _huge_ motherfucker," he shivers. "Got glowy eyes too. It gives me the fucking creeps just thinking about it." A pause and then a sheepish laugh. "Sorry ma'am for the vulgarity – got a little carried away."

"It's okay," Aran waves it off. "Do you know how deep those cracks were?"

Luke shakes his head, the armor clinking together in response. "That's the weird part. I went back to get the other guys to help me investigate but when we came back the cracks were gone! Mike thought I was just too tired but I swear I wasn't being tired or crazy or anything like that."

Aran stares at the guard long and hard for Luke to groan. "God, you don't believe me either, do ya?"

"No, I do," Aran says quickly and she does. Disappearing cracks – it speaks a lot of the situation. If what Luke says is true, there's something large underground of Sleepywood and its movements are causing earthquakes. And the cracks – as if someone is trying to cover up the tracks. All signs of a secret activity that's meant to be hidden. It's highly suspicious and may need more looking into. Aran doesn't know how to start with cracks that disappear, but she might as well stick around in Sleepywood. It's the only lead she has yet. But she needs more information than just this.

Her silence has prompted the guard to slack his shoulders, body language indicating "_Woman, if you don't believe me just say so damn it." _"Have the Cygnus Knights been in Sleepywood?" Aran speaks quickly. It's something she should have asked Neinheart but she didn't have the thought back then.

"The Cygnus Knights? Well yeah they have been, but I don't keep track of them so I don't exactly know when." Luke shrugs, looking aside and Aran follows his gaze to the entrance of the winding stairs around Port Road Tree. An occasional person with an albatross of a backpack descends down. "You've seen the Cygnus Knights with the portal constructors midway up on the tree, right? Just go talk to them. Maybe they'll tell you something."

"Thank you." She bows her head in respect before climbing up the stairs, sticking close to the handrail to make room for the travelers arriving from Port Road. It isn't long until the handrails come to an abrupt stop, curving even more outward to the new side platform where the Cygnus Knight guards were stationed. Unfortunately there is a sign that blares "PORTAL UNDER CONSTRUCTION ENTRY NOT ALLOWED."

"Excuse me," Aran calls out, waving her arms to capture the attentions of the statue-still knights. "I have questions about Sleepywood, can you please answer some of them?" All she gain are stares from the people passing her and silence from the knights. The warrior attempts again," Please? This is for Neinheart."

The knights don't budge an inch. Aran mentally face-palms. Of course, what is she thinking? She had her experience in Ereve: guard knights won't respond to anyone but to their authorities and Aran doubts that Neinheart would inform the Cygnus Knights about the pole-arm user's private assignment that she received earlier in the day. Damn it, if only she kept the letter.

Well then. Neinheart can vouch for her actions later. If the man complains about her methods, Aran will sic Lilin on him.

Aran moves around the sign, gingerly stepping over separate parts and toolboxes. Her trespassing alert the construction workers, who were sitting down using blowtorches to melt the white metal parts together. They immediately demand her to leave the zone immediately, but she ignores them, standing in front of the knights, the unfinished portal, and the irritated workers. They don't have a class – none of the Dawn Warrior or the Wind Archer intricacies – simply wearing the pale blue and clean white uniform.

"Ma'am, your presence will risk your safety and disturb the construction," tones the man flanked on the right of the unfinished portal. "Please leave and return when the construction ends."

She replies back smoothly. "I'm sorry, but I have questions and I need them answered."

The guard on the left answers her this time. "We cannot leave our posts and you cannot be here. Please ask us these questions after constructions ends."

"And how long will it that take?"

Both men answer at the same time. "Approximately two weeks."

Aran crosses her arms, defiant. She will not wait two weeks when these two men are right in front of her with plenty of time to answer her. "Tactician Neinheart asks me to conduct an investigation in demon activity in place for the Cygnus Knights. This is highly important." Wow, that was pretty bold. She didn't know she had it in her.

The Cygnus guards open their mouths to retort when the construction workers shout, their tools and building materials clanging against the wooden platform. Both guards and glaive-user switch attentions to the workers, Aran bringing her pole-arm in front of her, prepared. That's when she sees the source of the fuss: a sudden opening on Port Road's tree. Ice blue eyes scrutinizes it, widening when the opening is _in front_ of the aged green skin.

_The portal Tru spoke of. It's opening. _

It suddenly increases in size, the force spanning greater than the unfinished portal sustainer made it out to be. The workers naturally squeak, hurrying away. The guards stand ground, unsure what to do but their spears are held in front of them like Aran, who daringly stands in front of the fluctuating portal. A vortex of yellow and white, the depths so blinding that the pole-arm user can't see any more than the opening. The strings of people below the platform, down at the ground, are shouting in astonishment.

Then, a blur.

She's falling backwards, her back crashing and breaking the incompetently done wooden handrails of the platform – the workers didn't expect anything like this – and Aran instinctively embraces what's on her chest like a lifeline. Ice blue eyes widen at the sight, not at what's in her arms, but what's facing her as she falls and falls all the way to the ground, a long way down.

Large. Large grey blue eyes with slit pupils, the size of her hands, belonging to a body as tall as Maha's giant form bore into Aran and she can barely feel her spine collide the soft earth or hear herself gasp. _Dragon_, comes into her mind and her heart is in her throat; she can't tell if it's terror that chills her bones worse than Rien's winter or absolute shock as what it seems to be a dragon. In Victoria Island. _Standing above her_.

There's a name at the tip of her tongue like an after-thought, but it doesn't fit with that particular color of scale – _it should be darker_, she thinks, and a welt of familiarity laps on top of the initial bafflement. Aran digs her nails into her palms to see if she's awake but she can't stop staring: meter long, metal gray claws and long, mountain carving wings spanning wide. Gleaming, dusty ultramarine scales around a paler underbelly - from the fanning folds on the tail and spine like armor plates to the curling indigo black horns. A thought hovers the edges of her consciousness, that it's glowing is a way like Maha, wispy and unworldly; _a spirit_.

Intangible scaly lips curl back thinly like a knife, the eyes crinkling at the edges. Aran twitches at the booming voice that spill under curved dagger fangs like a great waterfall with all its grace and power.

"Little chosen one," the dragon crows, "we've hit _jackpot_!"

* * *

Desperation makes an excellent boost and the Light mage is back to town in record speed. The cheerful, bright tiled houses and the vine wrapped temple arches are a blur, fairies flying out of the way when they see him rushing down the streets. Their indignant cries fall to unhearing ears. Luminous can care less of the fairies, who decorate their buildings with feathered wings in their image, self-worship. He halts in front of Kriel who ungracefully screeches when he appears in front of her, a sorry sight with his rumpled robes and drying blood.

As he attempts to regain control over his breathing, using all his will to simply not collapse, Kriel tries to bargain once she realizes how easy it is for Luminous to eliminate. "You're hurt! How about a potion?"

He shakes his head but she tries. "Let me put your clothes in the wash, it's the least I can do." Little nudging and offerings of extra rewards accompanied with pouts and the fluttering of large, watery eyes.

The Light mage is disgusted, but she's a fairy and Luminous recalls Mercedes, the proud elfin queen who needed to spend half a year with a group of humans and a dragon to take down _one_ notch of her concept of fairy superiority. At least Kriel is dropping dignity to help keeping an island afloat and though he's in no position to judge anyone, he'll be damned if he doesn't get that augury _right now_.

Guilt does not overpower desperation, and anger; Kriel's pretty face twists in scorn at Luminous's demanding tone, even though he can see her having second thoughts on this _and should if she knows better_. "I've done what you requested," he says finally, the polite tone belying the tightness. "Please give me the augury." He's giving her a way out by using honor and he hopes she'll take it.

"Are you sure? I can promise a bigger reward, if you clear out a few more pixies – "

"_Please_," Luminous strains the fury exciting the dark mana inside him. He's at the edge of the cliff, between menacing shadows and a deep, _deep_ fall, and he clings to the memories in Ellinia for a reminder: strangling a fairy, banishing the librarian child into the dark realm, breaking an arrogant adventurer's leg here and there, no matter how much it stings.

…Except it doesn't sting. Maybe he's too tired to care about morality at the moment and thank god Kriel has given up, demanding Luminous to stay put as she goes to the potion store. She didn't expect the Light mage to be done, two days the new record, and didn't carry it out with her. Luminous gingerly presses his forehead where the red mark is, not concerned even though the fairies who pass him stare. His chest and head may look like a mess, but those wounds have always bled plenty, despite how small. He'll be fine once he returns to Serenity. Just a few more minutes.

"HEY JERK MAGE!"

The voice sinks in like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean, and might as well be because the demon boy is clearly not letting him off. It doesn't stop Luminous from jumping out of his skin, a vicious glare already on his expression before he can help himself.

_The damn fool! _He's in no condition, no mood to deal with this, and it was an overly generous gift on his part to allow the boy respite when he could have utterly crushed him. But the mage isn't going to simply flaunt his dark magic with spectators all around.

Speaking of the spectators, if they were yelling at Luminous, they are positively _wailing_ at Kaiser, who dashes down the streets with flames raging behind him. "THERE IS NO NEXT TIME – WE'RE ENDING THIS RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!"

Luminous steps back, only for a sword tossed by his head to land cleanly behind him. Kaiser dashes around and in one fluid combination, picks up his sword, swings it, and follows it with a rush-in attack at the same time, successfully knocking Luminous back all in the same velocity. The mage gasps as his spine hits the potion store door, the flames nearly singeing his hair when he ducks his head. High pitched shrieks and shouts around them – an unspoken taboo to fight in towns – and Luminous rolls to the side when Kaiser stabs.

Splinters of wood falls on cloud grey hair, and Luminous smirks when Kaiser's jagged sword goes against its wielder, taking the entire door off its hinges when the warrior pulls back, foreign obscenities under his breath.

"What in the goddess's name - !"

It's Kriel's voice, summoning Luminous into the store faster than an arrow, who jumps at the mage's appearance. "Blame the damage on the demon," he says snatching the augury from the fairy's hands. He brushes against the Aurora Prism in his pocket, awaking it. With one drop of Light mana into the teleportation gem, Luminous feels the familiar vacuuming sensation throughout his body.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" A hand on his shoulder, the sword high in the air with murderous intent and the last thing the mage sees are the slit, fiery blue eyes before the light takes him.

* * *

**A/N**: Look at all these Novans crashing into people (and crashing things in general).

Btw, Maplestory is a 2D game that relies on floating platforms to reach certain areas (ex. Perion, top right corner of the map), but for the sake of realism I have taken away the concept of platforms to reach another area. Unless it's an area where everything floats anyway (ex. Orbis).

(3-18-13) A/N: I am now putting footnotes. Ignore if you don't care ^^

1) Curbrock is a snake that tried to become a human by eating humans. Sabitrama, the NPC in Sleepywood, gives you the quests to fight Curbrock.

2) Kriel is a fairy NPC in Orbis and have some quests only for Luminous.

Thank you for reading.


	4. The crimson knots come undone

**Part 1**

**Chapter 3**

**The crimson knots come undone**

There's knocking on his door even though outside of the window is pitch black, the antique clock on the wall claiming it's hours after midnight, and really, even if Phantom's awake he would fire the person just for attempting to disturb him.

Or not since he's not _that_ dictatorial.

Either way it's most likely Gaston, the only one audacious enough to do so. Irritating nonetheless. Lumiere's captain is asleep, the ship on auto-pilot, but the master thief's bedroom is well lit. Which is probably why his manservant is here.

"Master Phantom," the butler's voice rings. "I shall be entering now." The door doesn't creak, the ship being one of the newer models. Gaston's footsteps click softly against the crimson carpeted floor.

Phantom neither speaks up nor bothers to greet the elderly man, amethyst eyes focused on the documents before him like a new, complex gem that still needs to be categorized between "worthless" and "worth something."

Gaston waits by the thief's rich mahogany desk and clears his throat. "Sir, it's three." Stating the obvious with deep reproval.

The thief quips back. "Indeed it is." He doesn't need sleep. What he does need is to understand what the Black Wings want. The given information is direct in wording but vague in content and the master thief restrains the scowl from reaching his features. Having wrinkles at his age is disastrous.

The loyal butler makes no indication to leave as he did reluctantly yesterday and the day before that. Meaning he's worried but Phantom's fine, he's _always_ fine, and none of this is necessary. Still the manservant stands firmly. "I insist, sir, that you go to bed – a concept most foreign to you I'm sure, but it is very healthy and pleasant and does well for one's complexion."

"I can take care of myself Gaston."

"Sir." The words "bloody idiot" is tucked in that single syllable. "If I must tell you to go to bed like a parent would to a child, then obviously you can't take care of yourself."

"I'm the greatest thief in the world. I'm busy." Christiane couldn't analyze enough but at least the intelligence analyst made it easier for Phantom to try understanding it, neat red annotations next to Professor Grelimer's illegible scribbles like a translation. She won't be able to do much until Colette collects the right amount of info. "It's an unfortunate side-effect that comes with the position."

"As the greatest thief in the world you _have_ no responsibilities besides being absolutely flamboyant even when there's not an audience to witness it," the butler counters immediately. "And when there is one, it's the Black Wings. How appropriate."

"I can do whatever I please, Gaston," Phantom snaps. His butler looks at him as if a piece of gold nugget turned out to be pyrite. Yeah, that was a weak comeback.

"Pardon me Master Phantom, but I like to remind you that I exist to have you _not_ do whatever you please. If you did we'd most likely be freezing to death today." Phantom must be making a face because Gaston is failing to stifle a chuckle, a prim, gloved hand to his moustache. "Oh sir, it wasn't _that_ terrible."

Incredulous, Phantom finally faces the butler for the first time since the conversation started. "'_That_ terrible?' That girl - Nanomi, Nanami, Nani – "

"Nanuke."

" – had nothing worth swiping," the thief continues smoothly. "I had enough jewels on my person to prepare my debut to the new world. It's just - ," a fast inhale before strangling the words, "we woke up in the middle of nowhere for hundreds of years…_and no one found us_?"

Oh that isn't even the whole story. The Crystal Garden managing to survive in the Gulf of El Nath for centuries among icebergs didn't addle the thief as much as waking up to see a goddamn _whale_ of all things crashing its head on the side of the ship when they woke up. And of course Gaston, the ever unperturbed and gentlemanly butler, produced a cute bandage on the whale's head and gave Nanuke a chandelier diamond necklace against Phantom's protests.

The husky owner made sure they were transported to El Nath safely, but the services were less than stellar.

Those goddamn huskies. Phantom liked that outfit.

He's losing focus again. Forcibly clearing all useless memories, Phantom rearranges the papers back into order; starting from the beginning would make this easier to connect even though it's a useless endeavor without the missing pages. Phantom's stint in an ice cube must have made him rustier than he once thought - to drop three pages. Three! He needs to get his game back.

As the clock ticks steadily away the butler's frown lengthens. "Sir, I know what troubles you but you're no use to the world if you're depriving yourself the basic necessities. You are simply a man and every man needs care. Even the proud and the stubborn."

A deadpan gaze. "And you're lecturing me."

A snarky reply. "Did you realize it on your own or did you have help?"

"Your comments are unappreciated – "

"_Under_appreciated."

"- and if you want to keep your job, you'll leave me alone," Phantom punctuates with teeth though they both know it's a bluff. Gaston is tenacious, from Phantom's birth to now, the one true familiarity from the past in the world of amazingly fabulous cars and terrible fashion trends: trucker hats, wallet chains, and shutter shades? _Deep V-necks?_ Oh god, the fashion industry spectacularly _rotted _while Phantom was asleep.

And he's not focusing again. Magnificent.

Pincer like fingers snatches the folder under Phantom's nose, and how embarrassing, for _Gaston_ of all people to steal from him. But the manservant doesn't walk away with the documents like the thief expected him to. Instead, he skims through, thick brows furrowing with every passing second. The exact response Phantom first had.

The manservant speaks," Containers, sir?"

"Vessels," elaborates Phantom, a bit tightly because it seems simple and mundane, so awfully boring it's not - _should_ not be anything much but it is. "It's the concept of transferring energy into an object and retaining it that's important. I have some guesses but…"

But they're so desperate. A small paragraph in one page implying the project had begun since the creation of the organization. It's a long lasting project and the idea of super soldiers compare to the history of their large numbers and victories is laughable.

Spreading darkness? Equally useless; Freud once made a theory, a side thought so quiet and preposterous that Phantom didn't give it much thought, only worth remembering because it stuck out like skirt over jeans. Still ridiculous, and the previous dragon master didn't have anything to back it up, but with the given situation makes it all the more prominent now. And if the man was correct…

Then the Black Mage was poisoning the world for around a thousand years. A thousand years to execute his ultimate evil plan, innocuously moving the pawns little by little. Then in one consecutive smooth order, they all reached the other side but it turned out – and no surprise there – that the Black Mage fucking cheated, when the pawns became queens. The king piece was always tucked in a pocket, safely away from the table.

Really, they only won because they flipped the board before it was checkmate on them. They didn't have to win. They just couldn't lose, and looking back, the sealing really isn't a victory at all.

After all the Black Mage's cronies are unfortunately carrying out the rest of the job well enough, rigging the entire world to their favor. But it all goes back to the question: what else are they searching for if not strength or corruption? Where's the destruction in this besides the resulting slaughter, which they can do without the tests? Or is it both at the same time – all just for the kicks?

Damn it, it was Freud's job to make the theories, not Phantom. But it's not like anyone else is going to do it.

A soft gasp and Phantom lifts his head, already knowing which page Gaston is on before the butler's expression shifts from nonplussed to horrid. Grelimer is a menace, and unfortunately a creative one too. The experiments conducted on people were various, cruel, and undiscriminating. From an elderly man to a young girl, the target population is a civilian – or anyone who's not specially trained - who had a certain level of natural mana. Enough to hold black mana and retain it for a period of time.

"Eighteen hundred..." Gaston murmurs and Phantom looks away, uncomfortable. He doesn't know if was worse during the war – and probably was - but that doesn't make it any less comforting. The butler is on the next page and Phantom stands from his lush seat to take back the folder from the butler's hands, who allows it without protest. The thief peers down, a hundredth glance on the same page with its colored charts and bar graphs. Eighteen hundred live test subjects in the past four years – ninety six percent "failed" and the leftover four percent "functioning though highly unlikely to be used again."

Phantom flips to the next page, tired eyes over the relationships among different categories: age vs. age, gender vs. gender, region vs. region – various people and their handlings the intrusion of dark energy. Slight positive correlations among children in Victoria Island, Mu Lung and Nihal Desert, though it's "yet to be determined" of which sex reap the greater results.

_The coldhearted bastards. _

"May I ask what's in the trash, sir?" Gaston mumbles.

Phantom glances down at the wire wastebasket by the foot of the desk. Nearly empty save for a crumpled piece of paper.

"Nothing important," the thief replies. "It was in the folder but…it was probably in there by mistake." A random piano music sheet tucked into between papers with a post-it note on it. Aforementioned post-it note was a mini grocery list.

It doesn't do anything but make Phantom wonder how much of any of this is taken seriously.

He shrugs. "You should go to bed, old friend." Gaston opens his mouth but Phantom cuts it. "There's not much to go on with this and I doubt Christiane and Colette can do anything at this point."

At Gaston's withering look, Phantom quickly elaborates. "No, I won't sit by and let the Black Wings do whatever they want. Foiling giant schemes is my forte next to stealing, remember?" Still, they both know that there isn't much Phantom can do. Go back to Edelstein and make a party just when the wanted poster for his head is already out? He needs time.

Tossing the papers at his desk carelessly, Phantom turns his head to the side. With grudging admittance, he says, "I too shall retire."

Gaston dutifully produces a set of sleepwear out of nowhere like a magician – obviously prepared for this – and Phantom stands up to unclip his cape. "…I am pleased to hear that, Master Phantom," the butler remarks as Phantom takes the clothing. "However, that was not what I meant to say."

"Then talk." Shrugging into silk pajamas, the master thief dresses in silence until the butler musters a response.

"I suggest acquiring the aid of your old comrades."

Phantom snorts. "I change my mind. Go away and turn off the lights on your way out." His old friends. Like they can be of any help now.

Gaston persists. "Sir, at least listen -"

"Do I need to repeat?" the thief snaps because Gaston should know better than this and yet the elderly man glares as if Phantom is the unreasonable one. Finally he falters when the thief makes no sign of reconsidering. Damn right he won't.

"And take the documents back to the intelligence center. The team may need them for reference."

Taking the experimental papers, the manservant accepts his defeat without further argument. He gives a slight bow like an indirect insult and turns to the door, turning off the chandelier lights as Phantoms climbs into his double king size, canopy bed, tugging the rich sheets over his frame.

Before leaving, the butler says over his shoulder, "I've told Colette to search for any long-living individuals who may provide valuable information of what occurred after the sealing. She should be able to conjure a list by tomorrow morning."

He closes the door, leaving Phantom in the dark.

* * *

Aran acknowledges that there's a crowd gathering around them, their voices bouncing off her skull. It's the thing in her arms that breaks the warrior's stupor, groaning, and it's a girl with vivid pink hair who slowly peels off from the warrior. Aran sits up as the strange girl wobbles backwards, landing on her butt and clasping her stomach.

"Ugh, there's grobblers running up and down inside me…" she says. Finally, her eyes open, a pair of glittering sapphires filled with confusion. She immediately squints though, raising a gloved arm to her face. "And why's everything so _bright_?" a gasp. "Eskalade, did I _die_?"

The dragon spirit, most likely called 'Eskalade', switches its attention from Aran to the girl. "No stupid. The star's closer to this world – you'll just have to get used to it." A snicker. "But damn, you crashed into one fiiiine beaut…except maybe you ripped off her wings."

The girl freezes and seems to notice Aran for the first time, her small face scrunching up. Slowly angling her head to see Aran's back, she shrieks. Aran winces.

"OH SABER, Y-YOU – OH MY - DID I? – OH NO, I AM _SO _SORRY!"

The glaive user didn't have time to say "it's okay" when the girl glances lower and shrieks again, her dainty hands moving wildly as if she doesn't know what to do with them. "I REALLY, _REALLY_ DIDN'T MEAN TO – ARE YOU BLEEDING ANYWHERE? IS YOUR TAIL JUST A BIT SQUASHED OR – OH SABER, YOUR WINGS – I AM _SO SORRY!" _

Now that the girl mentions it, Aran notices the ringed horns and the glowing wings. They're not costume props Aran realizes, the wings twitching at the horned tips agitatedly, but they don't stun the warrior as much as they should be – but then again what's actually _normal_ in Maple World anyway? The small crowd's murmurs grow louder, a few distinctive "clicks" in the air, cameras going off but no one is approaching any closer. As if seeing the onlookers for the first time, the girl becomes increasingly nervous, a mouse cornered by cats even though the cats, in Aran's opinion, don't seem to be sure what they're quite looking at.

"Chill your tits, sweetcakes." The booming voice is above Aran, who looks up to see the dragon, floating and crossing its arms in such a human gesture that the warrior isn't sure if she's hallucinating the spirit or not. It doesn't help that no one seems to see it. "Take a good look around you. No one's got wings. It's a world with a bunch of dracanics without the dragon part."

After the initial shock fades, the warrior finds the dragon not all that impressive anymore. Large as an ancient river mammoth, she admits, but Afrien was much larger; Aran remembers telling Freud that if they painted the Onyx dragon in earthly colors he could pass off as a small mountain.

The familiarity returns manifold. Her breath quickens, eyes a bit watery, like every time she remembers something she doesn't expect, but Aran's train of thought breaks before she can look more into the memory. The Cygnus guards are pushing the crowd to the side, ordering the bystanders to continue on their own businesses and "stop obstructing the traffic." Only a few leave but the knights don't seem to mind, their cool countenances replaced with genuine concern, attentions wholly focused on Aran and the strange girl. Aran doubts again when they pass through the dragon spirit – if it is a spirit - which growls at them.

They must have concluded that Aran is fine, a quick up and down scan before ignoring her for the stranger, expressions clouding in an instant.

"Come with us," one of them say but the girl stays where she is, unsure and shy and shaking her head. They immediately begin questioning her at the spot, not caring if Aran is right there, more preoccupied with the pink haired girl.

"Who are you?"

The dragon chants energetically, "Do your intro, do your intro, do your intro -!"

"Oh, I'm Te – er, Angelic Buster…" The warrior tilts her head. Angelic Buster? What a strange name.

Aran watches the dragon rolling like an angry gerbil in midair. "What happened to the dancing?" the not-so-grand creature thunders. "The singing? The cute pose in the end? Come on – we practiced this like a hundred times!"

Both Cygnus Knights and dragon are ignorant of the withdrawing girl, the knights barraging more questions. "Did you come from that portal? Where does that portal lead to?" they demand.

Blue eyes dart around. "Um, Pantheon, Nova? Grandis?"

"Which one is it?" one knight gently inquires. The other knight, probably the "bad cop" as Lilin would call, slams the butt of his spear on the ground, Angelic Buster flinching. "Those places do not exist! Tell the truth!"

"B-but I am…"

The bad cop points at her wings accusingly. "Are you part demon? What is your purpose here? Answer us or we'll take you in by force in the name of Empress Cygnus!" Watching from the side, Aran blows her bangs. Yes, because interrogating a girl who looks like she's going to cry any second now would accomplish anything.

She snakes her arm between the Cygnus Knights and the girl. "That's enough," the glaive-user tones sternly but it's too late. Angelic Buster squeaks out a high-pitched apology before bouncing over the heads of a dozen people, a rabbit at its limit. The warrior arches a brow, when the girl vanishes in the trees of Ellinia's forest entrance before another word was passed.

Well, she assumes the girl went to Ellinia. The only way she knows, with the speed the girl was going, is the cerulean dragon spirit chasing after the girl's shadow, calling her name the entire way.

Aran tosses a deadpan look at the bemused knights before pushing through the slowly dissipating crowd, the center of attraction gone, returning back to the original traveling streams in the Six-Paths Crossway. A hand on her shoulder and she prepared the glare before she sees the Cygnus guard, a flash of surprise before the indifference sets in. "If you're going to find the girl, we – "

"I'm going to find her." Forget the politeness; they're doing their jobs but Aran doesn't care, they don't deserve it from her right now. "I'm not going to bring her here. I'm not going to bring her to you. And if you try to catch her against her will, you'll have to explain to Neinheart why there are penguins running amok in the Knights Chambers." Threatening is a bad idea and the last part is an absolute lie, but the guard looks so off-guarded – pun not intended but true – from her cool defiance and Aran doesn't like the idea of an upset girl all alone. The warrior is so done here.

She whips her head away before she gets a response, already walking midway to Ellinia. Concentrating on the distinct hum of spiritual energy lingering in the air, a trail of invisible bread crumbs that only Aran can follow. If she's fast enough, Aran can find Angelic Buster before the aura disappears.

* * *

The day is yellowing but the forest of magicians is too dense, seemingly already nighttime under the layers of high arms of ominously tall trees. The branches knit together, a living blanket hanging over Aran as she navigates through the dark forest.

She stops. Between the invisible chirping birds and the rustling leaves, there's another noise, soft and airy but those are clearly words that Aran is hearing. Approaching closer to a nearby tree, Aran circles around the thick green trunk until she sees a hole, large enough for a person to go in. The voice is coming from inside.

It's brighter inside, the moist fungus platforms reflecting, lightening the inside of the beanstalk with a strange glow. The inner walls are sticky, sap running between Aran's fingers, but she doesn't mind, keeping close lest she slip and fall.

A deep, airy voice – most likely the dragon's - but it doesn't echo. "Little chosen one, please stop? You're ruining your mascara."

"Sh-shuddup." A smaller, hiccupping voice. "I don't care."

"You can't stay in a tree forever."

"Watch me."

"_I do that _all _the time_." A pause. "But really, you need to get yourself together and transform - someone's coming."

But Aran is already three fungus platforms below the tree opening, just two platforms away from Angelic Buster, but if it weren't for the dragon Aran would think it's a different person. The facial features are the same except the new pallet: sapphire eyes are now spring green, the pigtails are gone, replaced with auburn hair. Even the horns and wings have changed colors, darker and not glowing like city lights.

As the dragon mourns in the background, crying out "your identity's revealed!" and the like, all Aran can think of are the transformation spells and potions that she knows that does not say anything about instantly changing outfits. Would be mighty useful though; the climate difference between Rien and the mainland is radical.

None of it matters because the girl is wiping her eyes, curled up in a ball against the wall, and the dragon spirit doesn't seem as distressed as she, more concerned in its own business.

But Aran hops to the poor girl's platform, making sure she lands on the firm moss, the dragon changes gears, whispering excitedly. "Look Tear! It's Jackpot!" So her name is Tear – Angelic Buster's not a name any sane parent would give - and Aran tries to ignore the ogling. She still can't help but feel violated under those leering eyes.

The brunette gets up, expression changed but her cheeks are puffy, the whites of her eyes red. Aran puts her hands up submissively," I'm not going to do anything. I just want to see if you're okay." Tear in unsure, not trusting Aran at all but that's okay, Aran wouldn't either if she was in Tear's place too. One step at a time.

Disregarding the atmosphere, the dragon wolf whistles. "Damn, look at all those skin! That's some fiiiiiine cleavage! Woman's got some nice curves and oh, she's wearing garterbelts - umph! That's what I'm talkin' about! Girl knows how to press my buttons."

Aran whips her head back to the dragon, who startles at the action. Icy blue eyes narrow, snarling, "I can see why she's upset if _you_ are her guardian." Maha at least tried to comfort the warrior when she's upset and Aran wraps her cape a bit closer to her form with more force than usual. "Are you not her guardian?"

Though sniffing, Tear looks surprised. "You…you can see Eskalade?"

Another dirty look at the dragon before nodding to Tear. "I can see spirits. I have a spirit of my own back home. I guess by extension I can see others." It's the only explanation she can think of.

Tear slumps back down on the ground, bringing her knees close to her chest, her small, dark wings tucking around her protectively like a shield. "Then…the weird people back there. D-Did they see Eskalade too?"

"If they did, they probably would have run off screaming." Aran smiles when Tear giggles though another hiccup interrupts the flow midway.

"Screaming? What, they don't worship dragon gods here?" Eskalade scoffs to himself before inquiring. "Now talk little lady, what's up with this world?"

The glaive user redirects her attention to the dragon. "My name is Aran, not 'little lady'. Also, I believe Tear's feelings are more important as of now." Even though Aran a complete stranger to the both of them and has no place to interfere. But it feels right to do this.

The dragon gapes, dangerously sharp teeth showing. "Baby angel, she knows your name! She knows your name!"

"I'm not deaf," Aran reminds. "Speaking of names, why did you say you are 'Angelic Buster'? Is that a title?" The strangest title the warrior has ever heard but she'll keep that comment to herself.

Tear grumbles. "See? I toldja it's a stupid name."

Eskalade defends himself. "Hey, you went along with it." A weary sigh from the cerulean dragon. "What's got your panties in a twist in the first place, honey buns? Come on, you can tell me."

Tear simply digs her face into her knees, her hair falling around her. Aran intervenes. "I will not ask you to tell me who you are or your problems. But I see that you are distressed and you do not have," she gives a look at Eskalade then turns back, "…the best aid here." His snout turning into a violet shade, the dragon sputters. "But if I can help you in any way within my power, I will do my best."

Another silence, the drip dropping of water the only sound inside the spacious tree. Eskalade scratches his head with a claw. "Well this is pretty awkward; Aran was it? Yeah, thanks and all but I don't think – "

A muffled noise comes from the covered brown head.

"Can't quite hear you, chosen one," Eskalade drones. "Might help if ya put your head up."

"I said…" an indignant voice flares under the shadowed face,"- that I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!"

"Everything's being stupid! I've been doing the magical heroine business for, like, two freaking turnings and I delivered Angelic Justice to all the bad guys so everything was all super awesome and fun and dandy, until lunkhead Magnus came and made Velderoth upset, that big. Fat. Oversensitive IDIOT! And Veldie freakin' leaves after the invasion and Fenelle's worried sick of him while the council's got even a hundred times more gloomy than it used to be, and nobody - _nobody_ in the Pantheon smiles anymore even when I try to cheer them up and that sucks 'cause it's _so hard_ to try being happy when everyone thinks that Nova's doomed! Even _Cartalion_, the biggest weirdo _ever_, is so worried that he doesn't hit on me anymore and that's a really bad sign because that means the war is being 'unsteady' and stuff so everyone's putting their hopes on 'the almighty, epic Kaiser!' And that's _so unfair_ on Kyle 'cause he's going through a buncha stupid stuff too but he still goes off in another world and I can't follow him because I have a stupid, secret identity thing to keep up and he'll find out even though I hate hiding things from him and everyone - but Kyle's late and there's no way to contact him and he hasn't come back for a _whole turning_ to find the transcendent, which I think is really dumb too 'cause if our transcendents are either evil or gone, then why in the blazes would a transcendent in _another freaking dimension_, where dracanians got no wings – which is really creepy by the way," Tear adds to the flabbergasted Aran. "And _I'm_ the mutant! Why freaking help us!? And when I finally go through the portal, everything's so bright and weird, _and I still can't believe I'm in a tree like oh my Saber this tree is super big it's cool_!" Tear pats on the fungus platform for emphasis. "– a-and there's all those people around me and I wasn't prepared for it and those scary guys started asking me a buncha things and calling me 'demon.' No one's called me a demon before! What's up with that!? I'm supposed to be the good and cute heroine and I want to say that but they were talking so fast and I just needed to GET OUT while Eskalade just _wouldn't shut up about my debut!_"

A fierce roar at the dragon. "STOPOBSESSINGOVERLEGSYOUPERVERT!" Said dragon recoils, his ghostly form half out of the tree's wall, cowed like a scolded puppy.

She finishes the incredible rant in a blurring rush. Panting hard, Tear punches the fungus below her, yelping when the organic platform wobbles under her and Aran, though the warrior is a bit overwhelmed to react properly at this point. Thankfully it stills and Tear blushes, darting her eyes away from both the large dragon spirit – who finds his tail suddenly interesting – and Aran, who's still not sure what to say.

"…Sorry, um, Miss Aran," Tear mutters finally looking guilty. "You didn't need to go through that. But it felt good. Letting it all out. Thanks." The appreciation was said quietly, almost ashamed, and Aran gently laid her hand on Tear's shoulder.

Right. So how to go at this. Eskalade doesn't seem to have a bright idea, twiddling his claws together, shooting desperate glances at the warrior every other second, eyes basically yelling "HELP." Well for one Tear can't stay inside a tree forever. And whenever Aran got upset what did the warrior do?

Aran brightens. It's nothing big but it's a start.

"Are you hungry?"

The brunette peeks a green eye above her arms, still hugging her legs. Shyly, she dips a nod. "Didn't eat for seven shadings."

"Then…would you like to go to my home? If you are new to this world, I can help you understand it better." Aran's not so all-knowing herself but it's a better choice than to fall off the cliff to learn to fly, crashing every branch on the way down. The warrior has more than enough experience on how that feels.

Tear looks at Eskalade as if for permission who doesn't comment, an unspoken yes. The brunette offers a small smile back to the warrior. "Yeah. I'd like that."

* * *

Yawning, Phantom enters the intelligence deck, not quite refreshed but as long as his cape flourishes behind him with every step he takes he's fine. Sweet Marianne chirps a cheerful greeting at his arrival, handing him a silver Thorham cup of loose-leaf mulong tea cultivated from the highest elevated gardens in Mt. Muji of Zipangu. Ah yes, Phantom needs this majestic brew – the smell of wildflowers, the fresh floral notes of cherry blossoms and mushroom kissed flowers; truly the finest tea Maple World can offer – the price of forty thousand mesos was well deserved. Phantom takes a drink.

The cactus bean coffee tasted better.

The master thief takes two more sips, puts the unfinished teacup back on the tray and the maid flashes a brilliant smile before frolicking out of the room. Probably to take care of some other duty Christiane or Colette must have asked her to do.

"Morning ladies, have you found my extremely old people?" Phantom says to his intelligence team only to stop short when the two women offer him only curt shakes of their heads before steadily typing away. Not exactly the welcoming he expects.

The master thief doesn't need to scrutinize the dark circles behind thick glasses or the slightly rumpled dresses to know that the intelligence analyst and collector have pulled all-nighters; the hair speaks all. Christiane's is wrapped into its typical bun on top of her head except it isn't as neat as usual, strands of hair threatening to cascade out. Colette hasn't even bothered to put on her trademark blue headband, blonde curls a hazard mess.

The master thief strolls to the brick chimney place behind them, standing before the shimmering embers and quivering logs. Shaking his head, Phantoms says, "tsk tsk, I hired a team of Type-A people to get the work done, not work themselves to death." A part of him that sounds like Gaston notes the hypocrisy, but Phantom tells inner Gaston to shut up. The thief _did_ go to sleep after all.

These two women on the other hand probably haven't gotten a wink of rest. It's practically zombie-like, the way Colette stands up, glides to the corner to mass produce a bunch of papers from the printer and carry them to Christiane. She returns back to work as if she never moved in the first place.

"Don't worry about us, boss," Christiane says without looking up. The intelligence analyst mechanically shifts through the documents, scratching red marks onto some of them. "It's just jetlag."

"Jet lag? I live in a ship to _defy_ jetlags," Phantom deadpans. "And we're only twenty four hundred kilometers away from Edelstein. Which means you've both been working eight hours more than you should have."

Colette frowns. "Eight? You mean two. The time difference should be only two hours."

"Unless you both took breaks when you needed them and stopped working after your shifts was over, then yes, two." But they didn't and it's clear from their simultaneous grimaces. Phantom rolls his eyes; there's a reason why there's a clock in this room.

"I didn't hire slaves. Now why on earth are you both working so hard?"

As if on cue the blonde gasps, her drooping green eyes lighting up. She turns to her partner, whispering,"Christi? I think I'm getting in."

Christiane gapes, "You are? Keep going!" The brunette shrieks when she nearly falls over her own seat, stumbling a number of scattered plugs and books on the ground to dash to the intelligence collector. "Hurry!"

In the room of elegant shelves of the rarest books well kept throughout centuries along with every piece of necessary equipment to provide the most excellent service of information gathering, Phantom wonders if any of it was worth it as he watches his intelligence team focus on the same screen – one typing furiously on the typewriter connected to the screen and the other studying. It seems that all they needed is a computer or two.

Phantom arches a fine brow. "The Black Wings again?" There's actually sweat rolling down Colette's forehead as she types away in hyper speed, a series of beeps ringing from the screen. Whatever files she's hacking into must be quite a challenge.

The thief can nearly see a blood vessel popping in Colette who curses under her breath. Christiane answers for her, "No, it'll be too risky attempting a second time, especially after your break-in, boss. It's the Resistance's." Ah, a safer alternative, alright. Phantom nods and pretends that he understands the heated conversation Christiane and Colette are carrying, something about "script", "mutation pattern", "overdrive" and a bunch of other terms that makes him feel increasingly lost.

Honestly, wasn't technology supposed to make things _easier_?

"Bunch of bleeding paranoid pricks, especially xRBear_03," The blonde snarls at the blue screen. "Got me doing this manually all night. And Christi, write this for me – '58 . 247. 238 . 57' and 'GhostWiz BackDoor C.2 Server' for me, please. I'm going to have _fun _with that IP after this."

Silently the screen blackens out but Colette doesn't react. Phantom watches her hold her breath until the screen pops back on, a long scrolling list of white codes and phrases he doesn't attempt to understand. Rolling her shoulders, Colette grins cheekily to the thief," Got it, boss."

The intelligence collector stretches her back in her leather seat, a bone cracking somewhere. "The missing pages. Information wasn't enough so we're trying to fill in the holes. The Resistance tries to keep track of everything the Black Wings do. It's not the experimental papers, but they could," a drawn out yawn breaks out, "could answer a few questions…"

Christiane pats on Colette's shoulders, encouraging her to have some rest. Taking over her glasses, Colette snuggles into her chair like a sleepy drunk with a bottle while Christiane twists the computer screen to herself. With another click on the keyboard, the printer in the corner whirs back to life. The analyst strolls over and gathers the precious documents, flipping through them. "Sir, this is it," says the brunette, calm expression belying the cheering underneath. "Grelimer's experiments, the ones you gave us last night – "

"Two nights ago," deadpans Phantom.

"Two nights? Time flies – anyways, we've found some leads," The intelligence analyst smirks victoriously as she rushes back to the desk with the pile. Alternating between highlighters and ballpoint pens, she marks the paper dedicatedly. "These are just the scattered documents the Resistance scavenged and put together. It seems that the Resistance isn't sure what the Black Wings are really planning either - none of these are properly catalogued and may not even relate to each other."

Phantom comments, "Makes sense. The Resistance's only goal is to drive the Black Wings out of their town. I doubt they have any goals above that." _Probably collected the papers just to keep track of their schemes – any sensible group would do the same. _

Christiane pauses. "Huh, you were right, sir. The super soldier scheme is reserved for an entirely different project – something to do with cyborgs, but that's a whole different case."

She then separates the pile of papers into two separate stacks: one that's relevant to the current case and the other that's irrelevant but will be looked into later. A multi-tasker, the brunette mentions the critical information from each appropriate page while studying the next one, connecting it to the previous information for Phantom. This continues until she stops at one page, frowning. Tapping on it with her pen, she says, "It seems the Black Wings aren't trying to contain energy into people. They're trying to contain _spirits."_

Bemused, Phantom takes the paper from her, exclaiming, "Spirits? What's the use of that?"

"Wait, take a look at this too." The brunette brings back a few of the previous pages and hands it to Phantom. "The Black Mage's traces - the Black Wings aren't just using _any_ dark mana. They're using the Black Mage's mana specifically. They're trying to find people who can retain the Black Mage's powers."

_What? Why? Are they seeking for potential commanders? Yes, the Black Mage's commanders are the only ones who can utilize his powers well enough, but what's the point of probing through the masses and breaking them? _

Phantom must have thought out loud for Christiane answers back. "I agree, sir. They may be breaking people to make them more susceptible to dark energy. Perhaps making more room inside the subject…that's probably where the containing spirit comes in. Maybe they're trying to keep evil spirits?"

"No, that makes no sense either," dismisses the thief. "The papers…'four percent functioning though highly unlikely to be used again.'" _If it's breaking they want they wouldn't care._ Forcing down the shiver, he continues steadily, "Four percent…damn it, what does it mean? 'Unlikely to be used again'?" Used for what?" God, all of this messy, dark business; it's like playing a rigged game of contract bridge with Orbis Roulette against a thousand instead of three and the punishment for losing is endless torture.

And how are the victims functioning? Are they alive but distorted? Are they mentally broken? Except if Christiane is right, the sick bastards have succeeded, which is unlikely if they're still continuing the experiments. There's not enough information.

Or maybe after the first time they take in the mana, they couldn't do it again? A permanent physical defense mechanism thus ending up as failures? There's so many ways to go at this…

The man slaps the papers on his forehead. "What the hell are they planning?"

Christiane becomes quiet. Readjusting her cat glasses, she speaks up, "Sir, there is one more thing…I think they're not just randomly kidnapping people." She slips in another printed out paper into Phantom's hand where an insistent red circle accentuates a specific sentence in the final paragraph. The master thief wrinkles his nose.

"'Trapping the key?' What's this supposed to mean?" More cryptic clues to study. Pleasant.

The analyst benevolently provides. "If you look through the papers, the Resistance has noted that the Black Wings have been using the term 'key' frequently, most likely referring to a specific person."

"You mean they're _not_ just randomly picking people off the streets that meet their criteria?"

Solemn, the brunette nods. "Taking in Grelimer's papers and the Resistance's resources…" Phantom waits for the analyst to put her words together. She laughs shakily, "It's an outlandish guess. There needs to be more evidence and it's simply preposterous…"

"Christiane, I shall not judge. You can tell me."

"Oh no sir, it's _truly_ terrible, don't know what I was thinking!"

Phantom glares long and hard into the analyst, hoping that he's making her feel extremely uncomfortable. "Christiane. Tell." She piqued his curiosity and they don't have anything substantial right now. Hell, if she said that the ninja rabbits are conspiring to have mutiny against the Black Wings to replace the Black Mage, Phantom would actually give it some consideration.

But Christiane doesn't elaborate. Instead, she shifts through the "currently irrelevant" stack and isolates two papers for Phantom to inspect. The space between Phantom's brow furrows. Right, first page doesn't say anything about ninja rabbits, but it's about seal stones and _why_ is this coming up again?

Phantom brings the second page in front of him.

The paper has nothing but one block of a paragraph, which can be summed up how to break the seal but is futile – "First attempt has failed; proceed to next operation." The paper does not detail the "next operation", but there is a messy scrawl on the margin: "_FORCED REINCARNATION_." An arrow is drawn next to it with another handwriting that says "_Daemon doesn't know, maybe not important_."

The thief stares.

"My guess is that…the Black Wings are trying to find an alternative to breaking the seal," Christiane begins with a fragile breath and Phantom hates that she looks so convinced, the depths of her brown eyes filled with disbelief and a hint of terror. And she calls it outrageous. "And whoever the 'key' is…is the vessel. For him."

Breathing through his nose, Phantom looks away.

Yup she was right. There needs to be more evidence, more back-up, something scientific even though Phantom isn't a science man - again, that was Freud's job. But it still needs to be sensible and Phantom tells himself this, that it's all ridiculous, the Black Wings desperately hoping and that's that. Despite himself, the dread pools into his stomach. Because Maple World is one strange world that the impossible did happen, always happens and about to happen if Christiane's theory is right, but really, it _can't_ be…

Phantom tightens the papers in his grasp.

The Black Wings. Oh, the Black Wings. They are certainly their master's little minions aren't they? Know how to break the rules like him.

With a lilted voice, Phantom asks what he first came for. "Christiane? Gaston gave you a request last night…"

She jolts at the complete topic change. "G-Gaston? Oh, the long-living – "The intelligence analyst did not expect the question, mindlessly scrambling through the papers on her desk to retrieve a blue post-it note. "There's a man named Alcaster in El Nath…"

Phantom wordlessly leaved the intelligence center with a wave of a hand. "Go have some rest too – you've been working as much as Colette." The thief will have the team search up things for him later but for now he closes the door behind him, blocking off whatever Christiane had to say.

Down the spiraling stairs over lush red carpets, Phantom walks through the Lumiere's hallways, making for the piloting room. Trying to think one task at a time or just one _thing_ at a time would be better, not in the right mindset to do anything productive right now; enough to tell Captain Renault to turn directions for El Nath. Then he'll sneak into a few houses once the ship arrives to the frosty wasteland. For the kicks. Should be enough to clear his mind.

_Looks like I'll have to be acting hero again. Their seedy plot may not work, but it's best not to let them try._

He needs to find out more.

But first, to the dining room. He needs a fucking drink.

XXX

**A/N**: I was given a PM to not use OCs in my story…but Kriel from the previous chapter isn't an OC. She's an NPC in Orbis. I'm flattered that some people who don't play Maplestory (or haven't played it in a long time) are reading this fanfic, but it will be hard to see the game's connections in this fanfic if you don't play the game itself. But I'll at least point out the references to show that I am using the NPCs.

Please ignore if you don't care. So for this chapter:

1) In Aqua Road, there is an NPC name Nanuke who gives you quests for bringing treats for her huskies. On the whale she's on, there is a bandage on its head. I think it's an allusion to One Piece but I spun it.

2) Professor Grelimer is a mad scientist in the Verne Mines of Edelstein. Emphasis on the "mad."

I have also added footnotes in the previous chapters to point out the references in each respective chapter.

Again, I do not find it necessary to explain the NPCs concerning the Legends' and Novans' storylines. It was a given really.

Thank you for reading.


	5. Spilled ink, the stain will never leave

**Part 1**

**Chapter 4**

**Spilled ink, the stain will never leave**

Seeing stars behind his eyelids, back flat on the floor with a thousand needles pinning into his joints. It takes a second to register that it's colder, the temperature has shift, and that there's more shadows around him – a hand in his hair. There's a hand tugging his hair.

"Whoa whoa whoa, what's with the hoblin disco party?"

The dry voice is from Vieren, which means that Kaiser _is _here. The demon swordsman somehow teleported to Serenity with him, which should be _impossible_, but when the mage looks up he can't mistake the brandished blade, a bare centimeter away from his temple and a foot deep into the now cracked marble floor.

The specter is calling out again but Luminous can't explain right now; the other hand is on his shoulder, a knee digging into his stomach. The noise leaving the mage's lips is a gasping cough. Dizzy, the corners of his vision are cloudy, his other senses dulled. There's two Vierens above Kaiser's heads – head – and there's no time, need to refocus _now_. The shining rod is by the shelves across the floor _and how aggravating._

Kaiser is too exhausted. The warrior's strength gives out above him. No longer able, can't even pull his sword out of the marble floor, slipping down in time for Luminous to kick him to the side, the swordsman not even responding. Instead the demon breathes in and out too much too quickly, bent forward with wings arched high to show the bubbling blackness creeping to the scaly limbs. Bittersweet satisfaction fills the mage.

Vieren swoops down next to the Light mage cautiously, ghostly beard twitching. "What the, you're bleeding." Bleeding? The cuts. Nothing worth examining. "You look like you got in a battle – _and lost_." Surprised. He doesn't blame the ghost, the mage himself never felt this worn since the battle against the Black Mage. "And there's a dying guy here. How - _why_ did you bring a dying guy here."

The Light Instructor tilts his head after a moment. "Y'know, when I said Serenity needed more life I was thinking more of a dog." A pause. "Is he a demon?"

Luminous is barely listening. Serenity. That's right – yes, he's in Serenity, perfect because he barely has any Light mana or energy for that matter. Vieren can take care of him after this. He just needs to put this waste of life out of its misery.

"Luminous buddy, you okay?" No he's not, can't the fool see that he's pushing his limits? "'Cause ya not saying anything and it's giving me the heebie jeebies."

"Silence Vieren," Luminous seethes. To hell with standards; the darkness pools into Luminous's right hand eagerly and he's relieved, a dam breaking open. The energy spreads and he should have done this earlier. Luminous stands wobbling, adamantly putting a thick glass wall between himself and the exhaustion and the pain. Kaiser's not finished, the fiery blue orbs stare up, cold and unyielding.

Good. That makes it easier.

Again, Vieren persists. "Luminous, it would be really nice if you tell me what's going on."

The mage ignores the sullen ghost, more intent to watch the slug shrivel up in a pile of salt. Growling, Kaiser spits, "Come any closer to me with that and I'll make you regret it." As if he can lift a muscle.

Luminous responds with an upward kick on the jaw; he's a little stronger now with the darkness guiding him along, and with a resounding crack, Kaiser's down with his wings splayed flat on the white, groaning. Luminous kneels and bends close, touching the trembling chest gently. It stiffens at contact. He won't go at this recklessly lest Vieren scolds him for the bloodstained tiles later. It's the least he can do.

No spark. The mage can't feel even the softest hum of magic over the skin. The boy is empty.

"I'll end this quickly."

Permitted, the darkness bursts, blackening his entire hand as it spikes into the vulnerable heart. Maybe Luminous has truly been deadened even after those four restorative years with Lania, the way Kaiser convulses and how he can almost feel his fingers brushing the wild, beating heat – should be a vivid experience – not really processing. The mage pushes further. Kaiser is glowing, a faint red, no need for attention, Luminous is more interested in the raven tendrils feeding onto Kaiser's body, a spiritual virus spreading the inky toxins over the tanned flash. Every pore is stabbed from the outside in.

It takes a while for Luminous to realize that the boy has been screaming for quite some time. The mage thoughtlessly puts his free hand over the mouth, the noise muffled. For someone who put on quite a show earlier Kaiser is irritatingly loud. Once scrunched shut, the eyes open, and the loathing and fury, all the wrath of hell are embodied in those fiery blue orbs and Luminous doesn't know if it's fear or thrill that rips through his form. But there's truly nothing to fear; the skin that isn't covered in black mana is turning an unhealthy grey. The fight is leaving from the trembling hands in midair. The heart is Luminous's hold – which he cannot physically squeeze but feel – beats erratically slower and there's fogginess in Kaiser's eyes that weren't there before. Luminous will end this now.

Then…_Light._

Rays so ferocious that the mage staggers back, reflexively pulling out his arm to shield his eyes, warm and blinding as if the sun dropped from the sky to stare into Luminous. Disbelief weaves into his being; how is this possible?

The light dims enough to stop overwhelming the mage's eyelids. A cautious glance, but he immediately squints because the light isn't wholly gone - only enough to see the darkness retracting back, the obsidian snakes slithering from Kaiser's flesh. Luminous drops his jaw, aghast.

"How!?" Breathless because it's impossible, that's not innate Light it's the Light of _Aurora _and how in god's name does this demon have it?

To add insult to injury, an object whacks Luminous flat on the face before the mage could do anything les alone think.

It's a book. There's a book on his face.

Vieren's voice calls behind the cover. "Can you give me just two minutes?"

Fury reignites the remnants of his meager energy, Luminous slapping down the tome, snarling at Vieren before the ghost does anymore telekinetic magic. "He's a demon! Can't you see that!?" Except Kaiser is being purified, nothing in Luminous's memory that matches this situation, to explain it - god, this is beyond ridiculous - _he was dying a second ago!_

Slowly, Vieren floats to his side, engrossed in the unfolding scene. The darkness is gone - reversed, cleansed, and gone. Kaiser's wings appear better already, the color returning back to the boyish face. A miraculous recovery. Knees giving out under him, Luminous falls, cursing under his breath. Muscles screaming, bones aching, he's been pushing himself for too long and now he's just dumbfounded.

A thought. Luminous shifts through his pockets and hisses when he feels a sharp pain. Snapping his hand back, he sees red cuts over his fingers. Shards in his palm.

The augury is broken. The augury is _broken_.

_Back in Orbis. Kaise…he broke the augury when he charged me…the Aurora Prism responded to him. _

Which means that part of the great Light of Aurora now resides in this child's worn body, counteracting the dark magic just when Luminous was closing into him. A bark of laugh leaves the mage. Unbelievable.

"While that explains a few things…" the Light instructor gently remarks, floating closer to the unconscious Kaiser, studying him. "Still doesn't explain why you attacked him. I thought he was a demon at first too, but I don't sense any demonic mana from him. Ya sure he's really one?"

Luminous stills, turning over those words slowly.

Vieren is a spirit, naturally more sensitive to mana than any living human including the Light mage himself, but that _has_ to be a mistake. Luminous wouldn't…

Hand on his hip, the Light instructor thumbs at the fallen warrior with a flat look. "Let me guess. You thought the kid belonged to the dark side and cookies and went voodoo crazy on him." He shakes his head disapprovingly. "Ladies and gentlemen, our hero of the Light. At least the kid's not dead."

"Does it matter!?" rages Luminous. "He carries the Light now. Now I must discover a way to retake what is rightfully mine." Either way the warrior is doomed to die by Luminous's hands for whatever reason: for being a demon, for taking the augury away from him, for becoming a huge waste of time and energy – Fate is a procrastinating whore, always prolonging the inevitable, damn her for everything.

Without warning, the ghost floats in front of Luminous, intangible fingers pressing on the mage's temples. Softly, the specter says, "Shhhhh, stand still for a sec, will ya? You're not going to do anything worthwhile if you're half dying yourself."

Luminous jerks when the familiar tendrils of Vieren's Light magic flow into him without consent, the desolate air filled with quiet, practiced incantations. Alright, let the ghost heal him. After all no man is of any use if he can barely stand.

The feelings in his limbs are more pronounced than before but it takes a moment to realize something's wrong. This isn't just basic healing. The pressure is gradually increasing and Luminous looks up, Vieren not releasing, only giving him a stern look. "You need to trust me on this: whatever you do, _don't fight me._"

An indescribable chill washes throughout his skull as if he dipped his head in a frozen lake. There has to be a reason for this, Vieren would never intentionally hurt him without one yet Luminous seizes up because Serenity is spinning, the world wobbling around him. Luminous feels like a paradox - the temperature bouncing from two extremities within seconds, a sheet of glass pulled apart against its nature. He's slipping in and out of reality so quickly that the fear builds.

"W-what are you…?" Struggling against the invasion, his eyes feel as if they're being torn out by the force. "Stop! You're breaking my mind!"

"I'm fixing you." He's not, he's breaking him and damn this traitor for sounding so calm, easily overpowering him when he's down – _damn him!_ "You'll see, just – geez, what part of _don't fight me_ do you not get!?"

"_Get out of my mind_!"

"For crying out loud, I'm – okay, I'm done now stop -!"

Vieren's touch leaves and something comes undone. It's like a lock opening, a fog lifting. It takes a while for Luminous to realize that his mind hasn't felt this clear for a long time – _he_ didn't realize that it hasn't been clear in the first place. The mage always attributed it to tiredness or anxiety, fleeting aches that can be cleared up easily, but that wasn't the case, wasn't the case at all.

"Oh." That's all he could say when the world returns back to color, a stumbling blind man given sight. He feels more aware than ever.

But the pain, persistently kept behind the damn, has broken forth with the clarity, every fiber in Luminous's being screams under the overwhelming flood. A war wages through his blood and he's falling, or_ rising you're finally up_ - -

* * *

Too cautious to sit properly, Tear is sitting on the single wooden chair backwards like saddling on a horse, the rider releasing a noise every now and then when the whale climbs over a particular rough wave. Puro glances at Aran for answers, beady eyes asking "you sure you want to bring a mainlander to Rien?" – but why not? Being ostracized by penguins isn't any less different than by humans, maybe more better actually because of the unfamiliarity for Tear, but there's no point in making an argument anyways, Eskalade already underwater occasionally poking his head out with childlike glee. The joys of not having a body.

Invisible, the dragon's voice booms below the whale ship. "The salt lake goes for miles! Tear, you wouldn't believe how deep this is!"

Except it's not a giant salt lake and Aran could describe more of the untamed ocean, the marvels it holds deep, describe how the ice the whale is encased in is formed, but she's still processing that there are no oceans in Grandis. No beaches, no coral reefs, no sea creatures painted in rainbows - nothing related to the great blues in Tear's world.

Eskalade's head bobs above the black waters with a whoop. "Ice! I haven't seen ice for alignings! Sweetcheeks, open your eyes and take in the view – you're not going to see anything like this back in Grandis ever again!"

Teeth clattering, Tear stutters, "I-I ah-ah-am…" Clutching the wooden seat like a lifeline, she tries again. "Th-th-this wuh-wuh-world is s-so…" Aran places a comforting hand on the dracanian's back when she trails off and she goes silent.

So not just oceans either, snow is rare in their world as well. Clearly Tear is not used to the wind and chill, her auburn hair tangling and shoulders trembling under Aran's fur edged cape. If it was still day it wouldn't be too bad, the night's chill so biting, shredded teeth brushing her skin, the warrior can feel it sink into her bone, makes no difference that the ice birthed her; fortunately it's only ten more minutes until they reach the island. The baby whale slows down to maneuver around small, scattered ice floes, the waters more affable and gentle to its guests and the snow shelves guard like sentries. Squinting, Aran can see the blurred shapes of Rien through the fog that snows cold and white like skim milk.

Eskalade rises high enough for Aran to see the blocks of ice passing through his intangible form, turning to the warrior with a question. "Is it that cold? You're wearing half the amount Angelic Buster wears and you seem fine and dandy." A quick leer to her half bared chest. "Not that I'm complaining."

Aran ignores the last comment. "Rien is located in one of the warmest areas in the world and yet it is cold enough to snow."

"Huh. Basically it's freezing enough to kill a sleeping dragon." Eskalade scratches his head with a metallic claw. "Thank Saber I'm a spirit. I'd fly back to Nova in a blink if I have to go through whacky weather like this.

The warrior opens her mouth to protest that it's only Rien. Nature does not treat this wondrous world as a mere plaything - but then she ponders a bit more. The greatest desert is directly south from the harshest mountain range. Said mountains are also south from a chaparral farther up north and yet they sit between countries of forests. Huh. Maple World is quite strange after all.

The whale sings. The deep, moving sound vibrates the ice platform below Tear's chair and Aran shakes her head, smiling, as the brunette squeals. Turning to its side, the whale parks next to the dock and Puro announces," We've arrived to Rien." Automatically the warrior searches her pockets for mesos until small flippers stop her hand. The penguin laughs heartily. "Oh Aran, the boat fee is there to lessen the tourism so keep your mesos. I catch my own fish. And if you don't leave right now that strange girl is going to freeze to death."

He's right. Without the chair Tear is like a cocoon out of Aran's cape, eyes dim and lips becoming a faint blue around the forced smile, attempting to say something but the words freeze in her throat. She's wobbling. Eskalade doesn't say anything, doesn't need to, simply peering from Tear to Aran, the ultramarine eyes demanding – and the warrior complies.

Sweeping Tear into her arms because the pole arm on her back is cumbersome as it is, Aran speeds away from Puro with a quick thanks, still going to buy a new fishing rod for him sometime this week, the old bamboo one isn't going to last long. Right now having Tear in warmer conditions as soon as possible is her top priority.

Pine trees stand tall and strong, unruffled, curved walls like a natural tunnel. The winds do not reach here. Quiet, so quiet that every crunching step in the snow is loud, the murupia skittering away for Aran, but it doesn't make the path anymore brighter. No matter, Aran knows Rien like the handle of a pole arm that it doesn't take long to reach town, the trees finally giving way for the quiet, sleepy town. Streets empty yet bright under the pale, soft moon, though Eskalade comments that it's still eerie – "this is when people be walking outside in our world." Blue shadows stretch long, caressing the few wooden, red crowned buildings. Though the night is young, penguins sleep with the sun so there's only one house with lit up paper windows. Two stories high with double sloping crimson roofs, the top supported by green bamboo, the second supported by wooden pillars, ice bricks creating a set of stairs and a mini barrier around the foundation: Lilin's house. Aran curves around to reach the front door, a thick yellow dyed hide, announcing her presence as she charges head first into it.

Stumbling out of her dirt trudged boots messily, nearly tripping over the indoor mat, Aran takes a moment to catch her breath before setting Tear down, quiet during the entire sprint. Or suffocating, immediately coughing when Aran lets go, the cape slips and pools around her feet, Tear shaking her limbs like a wet dog. Eskalade's transparent head goes through the wall next to the two, chiming, "You okay, honeybuns?"

Hasn't heard Tear's response, already passing the living room to the kitchen, the sounds of boiling pans an instant calming effect and Lilin looks up from chopping tomatoes, Aran's sudden appearance has caused her to spill the red juice on her apron. Grey eyes narrow. "You forgot your cell phone again."

Translation: "Because you didn't call I assumed you were going to stay in Victoria Island overnight so I decided to cook edible food. Now I have to replace the tomatoes for squid organs." And this is why Aran doesn't use a cell phone.

Aran says, "We have a guest from the mainland." Lilin sets down the knife to lower the temperature for the boiling pot in on the stove. "She's…unique. And starving. She doesn't have warm clothes." Visitors are rare, Rien doesn't have a hotel for tourists to stay overnight and usually anyone who wants to come to Rien is there to either kill Aran or steal Maha, though those attempts fail spectacularly.

The blue haired girl doesn't answer, instead she surveys the kitchen, blowing up her cheeks, opening up the cabinets above the sink to gather spices. Swerves around to open another cabinet, not satisfied, closing it without taking anything out. She clicks her tongue. "If you had your cell phone, you could have called me! At least the lobster is out, but that won't be enough for three people. I'll bring out the seal from the back." Her grey eyes are bright. "What's her name?"

"Tear," Aran answers, pleasantly surprised. "She may be a little older than you."

"Then some of my clothes can fit on her. The guest room doesn't have a bed anymore so you'll have to sleep on the couch," Lilin smirks though Aran doesn't care, happy that the blunette trusts her enough not to confront Tear. After checking the boiling pot and tossing in a few spices, Lilin resumes chopping the vegetables though a little faster than before. "I'll have the lobster done in fifteen minutes so get her ready by then, okay?"

Aran grins from ear to ear.

* * *

"Luminous?"

Soft. Snuggling further into the sheets because it's too comfortable to get up even though he's already awake. So many times the butterflies say this peace is reality, it was progress to stop carrying his shining rod to bed. Still it may take another decade for Luminous to sleep soundly.

"Come on, Luminous. It's the perfect day to have a picnic! We can't have a picnic if you're going to be a lazy log all day."

Oh he has time, he has time.

Warm and sweet, she's an early bird, perhaps a tad too early for Luminous's comfort though. Still, it's a humble philosophy he should adopt. She's trying, and failing, to roll him out of the bed, half-hearted scolding blend with the rustling trees outside the window. Never once believed he'd have this, the one dream everyone dared to wish - to love, to settle, to have children – exalted and forbidden for its impossible simplicity. Never mind he skipped more than few steps, this is more than he can ever hoped for.

"LUMINOUS!"

_Lania?_

He sits up way too fast, his body protesting, red and blue eyes wide open for a little girl with flaxen hair; his efforts are greeted with a wispy shining rod going through him, an uncomfortable chill when it pulls out. It's Vieren who gives a sigh. "Finally the power elixir is working. For a moment there I thought I _did_ break your mind. If I did, god, the old farts in the afterlife will never let me hear the end of it."

No one here besides the ghost and him, no little girl with a wicker basket in hand. Low ceiling, marble tiled floor, the room is made out of the cold, stone cavern walls – a dank chamber with no furniture save for the grey bed the mage occupies, tangled in white sheets around him. Far from the simple cottage he hoped for.

_Desperate fool, you are no longer in Ellinia._

But he can still see an unconscious girl in the midst of dying trees, the world blending between memories and reality and shadows, so many shadows, he's not completely awake and wishes he isn't, his skull pounding like war drums. Thinking is a disservice. Still the mage peels the blankets off his form, can't afford to go to rest when there's a mission to complete, not for an old battle but for himself, which makes it all the more demanding, selfishness the greatest drive. However Vieren has his own agenda, swooping down in front of him with a sullen countenance. "Oh yeah, ignore me – I didn't do anything at all. Just stopped you from driving off the deep end, no big deal."

Luminous frowns. "Old friend, I do not understand…"

Vieren sends a flat gaze. "You couldn't get the augury in time. You screwed up in one week."

The ghost turns to the side, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Holy moly, what do I do with you? You had _one job_. I said you've got a whole month! Use a little black mana here and there, once every day, and there you go, how to _not_ become a psychopath! Shouldn't be so hard and that's _plenty _of time to find the whooping augury!"

"Vieren – "

"But noooo, you ignored me – jeebus, I knew I should have hopped the boat when I had the chance." Vieren swoops back down, stern eyes boring into Luminous's. "Let me guess, you haven't used any dark magic for the entire week, haven't you?"

Guilty as charged but irritation rises instead of shame, he didn't come here to be lectured. "I – "

"Oh wait, stupid question - of course you didn't! Or else you wouldn't have gone bonkers so soon!" The spirit whirls around the room as if he's frustrated but he's being so vague that Luminous restrains from leaving the room. There's no purpose in this, indeed he hasn't used black mana since he left, but –

He stops. Clutching the side of his head, twisting his hair even though it doesn't help, pain isn't enough to satisfy the claws squeezing his heart of blood. This, all of this - because Vieren is right, it does matter, if Vieren didn't throw down the rope in time Luminous would have let go hanging on the cliff and into the abyss. Orbis, the lucidas, Kriel - Luminous didn't notice the shift, when it dropped from justice to petty vengeance for a past he thought he left behind, that he did left behind but wouldn't believe. Oh gods, a model hypocritical bastard, so close to hurting the fairy, hurting the innocent civilians around him. So close to lose control – no, he_ did_ lose control.

Luminous moans, digging his hands into his eyes. He should know it better than anyone else; the darkness is a serpent under the bushes, a creeping parasite that needs to be watched dutifully and damn him for thinking that keeping it in a cage means it's kept safe. An incompetent guard, he has all the keys and he let it possess him and here he is, the scabs torn open. This will leave scars.

_Now you feel remorseful?_

Because it wasn't like that before isn't it? He chuckles, the sound self deprecating. Back in Orbis, not even a niggling ache when he recalled his past sins and damn him, _damn him_. A fine example of a hypocritical bastard, he hated the fighting, the wars, the chaos, and yet…

A ringing like bells reaches his ears and Luminous opens an eye to see a summoned blue tome waving in front of him. "Think another depressed thought and I'm going to bury you under a pile of books." For emphasis Vieren shakes it warningly. "I know that face. Jiminy freaking jingles, I didn't nag on you just so you can spiral into another ocean of internal doom."

"Vieren…" Pure steadfast Vieren – he can't understand the inhuman thirst, too good to assume it from the mage too. If Luminous could slaughter ghosts, Vieren would have been the first.

Oblivious, the spirit persists. "Besides, the darkness didn't get _that_ bad - just got a little worse 'cause ya didn't get the augury in time." But that's no excuse; Luminous shouldn't need external forces to control the darkness but that's just what he is. A crippled Light mage who breaks his own crutches. He was so close to killing Kaiser a minute ago –

Red and blue eyes widen. The mage cries, "Vieren, how long – the boy! Where is he!?" _Is he alive?_

"Wait. What?"

"The boy, Vieren, the boy!" Ironic, he tried to kill him before, willed his entire being to cut that string and now he doesn't remember why.

"The kid?" The spirit smiles. "Chillax, the kid's fine." A temple bell, the declaration a sanctuary by itself. "Look, I'll show you…" He raises his shining rod in the air and soft light envelopes both ghost and mage. Teleportation takes a second and yet Luminous can smell smoke, earth and dried blood before he finds himself in a room as bare as the previous one.

It's slightly larger with more furnishing: a dusty desk and a stiff wooden chair by one wall, a bed and a nightstand in the far corner. Slowly, Luminous approaches the bed where one, sleeping Kaiser lay on his stomach, the wings and tail free from discomfort. He should feel relieved that he didn't cross the line, but he can't, not when the warrior appears tormented in his rest, a scowl in his face as if pained. God, Kaiser looks so young, truly just a boy, and Luminous remembers the speed, the power, the ferocity. No one his age should be taught to fight like that.

Vieren floats close behind him. "It's not completely gone. The augury saved his neck, but it's going to take time for the poison to flush out. I'm guessing maybe a week so we better fetch some more supplies."

But Kaiser probably would appreciate being sent to a real hospital, desiring nothing more than to see his near murderer never again – anyone would be the same. But there, a faint black vein pulsing on Kaiser's forehead and Luminous traces it carefully. His hand curls into a fist. This is a disease only Aurora can cure.

The ghost's voice becomes low, like a doctor sharing the diagnosis, the cancer already in its terminal stage and the only possible cure is eating a puffer fish, toxins and all. "It's…it's gotten worse again, isn't it?" He doesn't mean Kaiser.

Luminous barks out a bitter laugh, a sufficient answer. "I...I didn't realize...he was warning me the entire time." Voice breaking like his pride, deservingly so. "I corrupted him. I corrupted him and nearly killed him." Impulsive, irrational, how dare he, _how dare he_ - the swordsman offered sympathy, a truce, and_ all the signs, all the damn signs and I ignored them, carried away in my delusions and prejudices to give him the benefit of doubt. _

"Oh no you don't." Vieren's irritated tone summons Luminous's attention, the mage turning to see the spirit filled with sudden exuberance. "You are NOT going to mope around for the entire day. I'm a ghost – I'M supposed to be the whiny, depressed one and just because I suck at it doesn't mean YOU have to compensate." Exaggeratedly, the spirit leans back in an invisible sun chair in midair, the perfect picture of affected relaxation. "Remember the first time you came here? And you put me in a funky metaphysical skeleton cage for like a whole day because I was being too annoying? Those were some fun times. At least you didn't stuff me into the emo corner this time."

"_Emo?"_ Luminous offers a wry smile. 'Chillax, 'emo' – how Vieren acquires the contemporary slang without ever leaving Serenity is a mystery, one he should ask later in lighter times. "Did I not apologize for that? How many times will you remind me of that humiliating debacle?"

The Light instructor snorts. "A bazillion times until you learn to _stop _putting yourself in your _own_ mental emo corner. I can practically _feel_ the waves of depressingness from you." Vieren proceeds to squiggle his arms like a jellyfish to emphasize the 'waves.' Luminous lets out a soft chuckle for Vieren's sake if not his own.

It works, the ghost cheers, though it sounds a tad dull. "Yaaaaay, you're finally smiling." The ghost gestures at the sleeping warrior. "Now let's head back to the study. I think I know a way to completely detoxify the kid and you're going to do it. If we don't hustle, the poison's gonna spread and we'll be at it for a month. But you gotta do what you gotta do. Take responsibility and all that pizzazz."

The Light mage bows his head. "But the auguries…" How can he save someone if he can't save himself?

However the specter shrugs, dismissing it. "Forget about them for now. I already found the next one and it's a tiny place. You'll find the augury _easy_ there so you got time." When the mage directs his eyes back to Kaiser, Vieren answers, "We'll worry about getting that one later. Remember the thingy I did before you collapsed? It's something I came up with while you're gone. It's temporary, but it'll give enough time for us to get the little mutant freakshow up and run - "

Luminous corrects, "Dragon."

"What?"

"He is part dragon." Luminous reaches into his pocket to regenerate his Light orb, which purrs once the minimum amount of mana fills it. Reading his mind, the orb glows, preparing for a teleportation. "His name is Kaiser. I'll go to town to acquire the necessary supplies and return as soon as possible."

He vanishes.

* * *

Tear attacks the seal meat like a pack of wolves, ferociously tearing off the dark, slightly charred slab of flesh from her knife like an awkward skewer stick, the fork in her other hand stabbing into three prawns messily. The brunette alternates different dishes between bites, Aran content to eat the mushroom salad, _normal _mushroom salad, and watch the dracanian stack platter over platter on the corner of the bamboo dinner table.

It's a good sign to eat heartily, but the way Tear shows no self-control – when did she last eat? Is she poor? Is food hard to come by in her world? Aran asks the first question, concerned.

"Urah vo – "

"Swallow then talk," Lilin orders as she arrives, laying another platter of seal meat down and taking a seat next to Aran, the food disappearing like water under the a summer sun. "You eat like a pig! Slow down, the food's not going anywhere." The little girl doesn't bother with basic courtesy and personally Aran doesn't she needs to, outdone herself the feast on the bamboo dinner table: colorful plates boasting glistening meats and seafood, leafy greens and roots from Henesys's farms, and savory broths with rich seasoning. Of course a little girl with an absent brother needs to get by but Aran didn't expect cooking to be a specialty, especially with the strict "Get-Aran-to-Carry-Maha!" diet schedule, sustenance at best.

Flustered, Tear gulps. "Sorry. Every time I'm Angelic Buster I can't eat and I've been Angelic Buster for a really long time." Stuffing a giant scallop in her mouth, she speaks with a bloated cheek. "There's a lot of trouble in the Pantheon so I'm being called here and there and everywhere and all I've been eating are snacks."

Yup that's pure white rice, no camouflaged, crushed fish bones to test her perception and Aran digs in, content with Lilin doing all the talking. "That's not healthy! You should eat proper meals."

Tear giggles. "Yeah I know and there's this nice lady back home who gives out food but that's the thing. Evil priests have been stealing the food lately and I've been busting their wings to get them back but I can't get _every_ food back. Then there's not enough by the end of it so I pretend not to be hungry so the soldiers can eat." Tear snatches a fresh hot kettle of green tea only to stop short, staring, doesn't know what to do with it now it's in her hand. Shaking it, she says, "It's metal. How do I eat this?"

"You don't know what a kettle is?" exclaims Lilin. Pale hands reach across the table to take the kettle, pouring it into the given clay mug in front of Tear. As the steaming liquid fills the cup the dragon girl watches in amazement. "That's how you use one. It's hot so be careful."

Scrutinizing, Aran slowly puts a forkful of shrimp into her mouth. No oceans or snow, no kettles, the universal and the mundane in this world doesn't exist in Grandis. What can be an everyday item in Grandis may be a rare thing in Maple World as well.

In fact, Aran thinks as she turns to the side of the cozy, yellow dining room, looking beyond the paper window. Eskalade isn't physical so he doesn't appear as a dark blot through the paper, simply a vague, glowing blue shape sitting in one place, keeping close to Tear but content to watch the snow fall. Some wonders outweigh flirting and it brings a smile on Aran's lips.

Tear slowly brings the drink to her lips, finishes the cup and smacks her lips experimentally. "Hmmm, it's like medicine soup. Except not bitter or that hot. Kinda tasty!" Aran's mouth forms a small O when the dracanian grabs the bronze kettle and pours the scalding liquid straight down her throat in heavy gulps. The kettle is empty within seconds. Yep, the cultural difference cannot go any greater than this.

"Okay. I'll pretend that that's normal and move on," Lilin says though her countenance says anything but. The blunette folds hands neatly in front of her, Aran recognizes the position and drinks her soup, not going to say anything and let Lilin take the reins. "Evil priests that steal food…what the heck is wrong with your world?" Straight to the point.

Scowling, Tear replies, "War." She sets down the kettle, pushing it to the side next to the stack of dishes. Slower now, she's taking a plate of lobster and poking it with her fork as if the sea creature would start moving in any second. "It's kinda floppy. Some days it's okay and other days it goes crazy. Like the Protective Shield gets taken down and we have an invasion and we're all doomed." Poking the claws, Tear giggles.

Frowning, Aran says, "You were really stressed when you came to our world. Is the war…"

Tear shrugs distractedly as she brings the lobster under her nose, sniffing it. "Like I said it's really floppy. When I left we were in one of the safer times so we're good for now…" A loud crunch when the guest bites down on the red shell of the lobster before Aran can stop her. And just when she thought she saw everything. As if she's eating a biscuit, Tear chews softly. "I guess I'm feeling a little pressured, that's all. I'm in a new world so everything's a bit overwhelming. That and I haven't heard from Kaiser for a while."

"Kaiser?"

"He's my best friend," Tear supplies. "His real name's Kyle but he calls himself Kaiser now'cause it makes him feel awesomer. He's a lunkhead like that."

"Is he part-dragon like you?" Lilin says. When Tear nods the blunette hums thoughtfully. "That's strange. I haven't heard anything like it. You'd think something like a dragon boy from a different dimension would be everywhere on the news by now."

Dark wings fluttering, Tear huffs. "I don't know about Kaiser now. It's been a turning since he left and he was supposed to come two shinings ago. If it was just a blotting over it wouldn't be a big deal. But_ shinings_? That's too long and Kaiser wouldn't lose track of time like that."

Sipping tea, Lilin responds, "Turning, shining, blotting – if that's how your people keeps time it would explain a lot. The time systems can be completely different."

"What do you mean?"

"In Maple World we go by in years, months, hours, minutes...you get the idea." Lilin flips open her cell phone in front of the brunette. "See? You're confused too. If you have to go back home in a specific amount of time, it's going to be hard because you don't know how to calculate the time here compare to how you calculate the time in your world. Makes sense, right?"

The brunette lets it sink in before groaning, abandoning one hand on the lobster's belly to facepalm. "Ugh really? He doesn't have a timer either…" Murmuring more to herself than to her hosts, Aran understands how dangerous introspection can be until Tear tackles the remaining lobster with a force likens to anger. "I'm not going to be sad! I'm going to find a nice Transcendent, find Kaiser, and end the war!" Gobbling up the shellfish with a fanged grin, Tear pumps her fist in the air, an optimism warm and welcoming, a robin returning back from migration. "Angelic Buster is gonna bust some tails!"

Lilin claps though her face is cool. "That's great and all but how are you going to get back home with an unstable portal?" Receiving questioning looks she elaborates. "Aran, you told me that Tru knew of the portal months back. That means the portal is unstable if it keeps fluctuating like that."

Tear laughs freely. "Awww, you don't need worry about me! The portal is unstable from _your _world. The council back at the Pantheon controls when the portal opens and closes so it wouldn't grow too big." Extending her right arm to show a ringed blue bracelet, the auburn haired girl jingles it lightly, the bracelet shooting out a beam of light with numbers ordered in a strange fashion, a set of numbers counting down. "I've got a timer to know when the portal opens next! I don't need to know about the months or ears - years, or eh, whatever, y'know?"

Intrigued, Aran bends forward to take a closer look but it's Lilin who pokes the bracelet. "It's a watch?"

The brunette shrugs, scratching her horns with bashfully. "I really don't know what it is. Eskalade calls it a Soul Ring and it does a lot of stuff. It carries Eskalade's connection with me and it's a dressing room – don't ask, I don't know how it works." She adds hurriedly. "It has a buncha other functions too but I haven't figured them out yet."

"Right…" Lilin stands up to pick up the empty dishes, Tear's appetite seemingly satisfied though Aran hasn't truly eaten. Should have since this may be the last time she'll ever have a legitimate meal in this house. Aran squawks, when Lilin blatantly drops diced yellow dusted, bitter green mushroom shells into the warrior's soup. "Eat every single one!" The devil of a training manager returns with a smile of an innocent twelve year old before washing the dishes, daily life accepting a few new people and resuming back in course.

The warrior blows a few white strands off her face. Remind her to bring more guests from now on.

* * *

Evan has been trying to push it into back of his mind as much as he can. Phantom told him a lot of things, things he thinks that would have been better to learn earlier or later but it's too late and here he is anyways. Walking in a lonely road in a spooky forest at midnight, encountered a forked road and chose one that may or may not be the best decision. Again, it's too late and here he is anyways.

It's a small library, the corners shadowed that it carries the illusion of being larger than it is even though it's fairly small. The only light that emanates is from the candle on the table Evan is on but it's enough to trace the words on the book. Better than Utah at school though he wasn't exactly the model student like Jay is. Even Henesys's local library is bigger than this but Henesys's library doesn't have a book on Onyx Dragons. Whoops, Mir's tail moves around his feet but the dragon stills and Evan breathes a sigh of relief. Have to think quieter.

A blank noise where Mir's mind is, which means the dragon's dreaming so it's safe him to think clearly again. Their connection has become strong, strong enough to share thoughts and it's dangerous because Mir may be the super special awesome Onyx Dragon but he's a _baby_ super special awesome Onyx Dragon. It doesn't look like it since Mir is so big, much more bigger than Bulldog can ever be, but all Evan needs to do is remember how the dragon played with the puppet earlier and yeah, Mir is too nice. Just because Evan is scared, worrying about whether mom and dad and Utah are okay, worrying about the plan, worrying about everything doesn't mean Mir should either. Evan has to be a good master. It's the least he can do.

Sometimes it's too much though. A promise then. One day, when Mir gets a little more adult like – mature, that's the word – and maybe more dragon-like then Evan can share his thoughts about _this_. Until then the mage is going to learn everything so Mir can trust enough to not worry about anything.

Flipping to the next page, _the Spirit Pact is a complex contract between two individuals no matter the species; theoretically it can apply to not only dragons but also monsters. However the Spirit Pact has only been successful with the Onyx Dragons and changes are necessary to accommodate monster familiars as well (benefits and disadvantages of bond are listed in table 16.4 in page 232)_ and flipping the next page again to look at the T-chart. Soul share, mental link, strength split, life distribution – wow, even that too? That's something to think about.

Still. It's impossible. Phantom says that he can do it but there's no way a thirteen year old kid can be as powerful as Freud was. Heck, Freud was a prodigy, had a head start on the hero business when he was _born_. He's that 'unknown' guy that his second grade textbook said who helped turn alchemy into a universal job. The Giant potions used in the Breed Battle in Orbis? Freud's creation too. What the heck.

Mixed feelings toward his predecessor who supposedly paved the way for greatness. A bit of awe, a bit of 'why me,' and another feeling that Evan can't put a finger on. Familiar but not happy. The opposite of nostalgia, a bit like that one time when he got into a fight with that one bully at school and said something he shouldn't have said. Wish he can take it back though it's been so long and the whole thing doesn't matter, can't even remember the guy's name or what it's even about. Yeah. It's that feeling. There's also 'it's not a big deal' and it's not jealousy. Can he get jealous over a dead guy? Don't know but Evan's sure it's not that. There's a word that fits but it's too weird to think too deeply either. Is it normal for him to think so much?

And gawd, he's not that dumb either. At least Phantom told him something he needed to know but anyone can look at those eyes and know enough that the thief means the exact opposite. Greatness? Really? Mom wouldn't be happy if he uses it but Utah uses it a lot so why not - Evan's literally going to hell.

Except that's fine with him. Not a hero, Freud's in the past, and Phantom doesn't bother sticking around. Dropped some words and probably never expected they'll be used for this. Now that Evan thinks this far maybe he should have learned all this earlier. Then he wouldn't have fallen this deep but that's just excuses. He's fine where he is. Has to be or else he won't know what to do with himself anymore.

A yawn below him.

"Master, someone's knocking."

So it isn't him being noisy. Yay because it means he's getting better at this. A tail rubbing comfortingly on his ankle but it's okay Mir, it really is, he's getting better at balancing between them and they'll be stronger. Evan hurries to read the last page of the chapter in the volume. He hasn't read that much but that's okay too. It'll be more fun talking to Mir about it anyways. Mir croons below him, agreeing with that thought.

The person on the door gets impatient. The door swings open and cold air and dim light floods in, illuminating how much dust there is in the room. As Evan closes the book the hooded arriver taps his foot. "

Are you seriously going to read all day?"

Mir answers for him, though the dragon's voice is slurred by sleep. "Uh huh!" A doggy yawn. "Master's going to learn eevvverything."

"Well stop being a nerd for an hour. I've got a _friend _of mine who's coming to see you. Now what do you have to say when you meet him?"

Evan doesn't remember. Maybe Mir remembers and the mage looks down at his companion for help. A pair of dark eyes blink owlishly back at him.

They must look really stupid right now.

Dramatically Francis sighs throwing his hands in the air, a rush of cusses and complaints. Whiner. However, the little wooden doll that has been hiding behind the puppeteer's legs jumps out in front of its master, squeaking," That's okay! Take your time and remember. I'm sure you can do it if you think hard enough!"

Evan's chair rattles and the mage holds on the desk for support, Mir sliding over the floor to pounce on the puppet. The dragon and marionette crashes in one pile. "Master, it's a baby puppet! I've never seen a baby one before!"

Francis gasps, "What the – STOP TOUCHING HIM! If you break him I'm going to _hurt_ you!"

"I'm loved!" the baby puppet chirps happily as Mir wrestles with it, a bit more gentler this time though Francis struggles to pull his dark tail. "I'm loved!"

Wow. Evan doesn't know why he ever called the puppets ugly. They're really cute.

And it's right because Evan does know it and now Mir remembers it too, the dark blue head perking back at him. Evan stands up, pushes the chair politefully back to the desk, the Onyx dragon returning to his side.

They both stand together, coming into attention like toy soldiers.

Synchronized, they voice, "Naïve we are not, idealistic we are not. Beneath the lies and the darkness is the truth. We will usher in the dawn of a New World, one defined by purpose and order." They bow their heads. "Eternally loyal, we are humble before our king. May the Black Mage lead us all to Transcendence."

He wants this. They want this. He has to give himself that much credit. Or none at all.

Smirking, Francis the Puppeteer pats on Evan's head condescendingly even though they're the same height. "So you're not totally useless." Jerk. Once Evan gets that promotion then Francis has to start obeying orders from him. "Hah! I saw that look - goody two shoes my ass. Come on, let's go."

Too deep, he's in far too deep, he's going to hell but that's okay, _that's okay._

Now flying, Mir taps his head on the on Evan's chest, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. Evan smiles back, readjusts the Black Wings badge over his heart, and follows Francis out the library.

* * *

1) Puro is a penguin NPC who gives trips from Lith Harbor and Rien Island and vice versa.

Thank you for reading.


	6. The cobwebs hold, dew and dust

**Anonymous Review Responses:**

To Hi: You have no idea how much it makes me happy when you commented on the characters' dialogues - Vieren especially. Thank you for that sweet review!

To Shishou: Reviewing twice in one chapter? You flatter me too much ;_; I'm so glad you find the monologues interesting (even though I personally find them not since the actual interesting parts are coming later). I hope you enjoy this chapter in all its passing progress.

To Blazingen1: Haha, this was an extremely hard chapter to write because I had to organize the timeline. I hope you enjoy the result.

**Part 1**

**Chapter 5**

**The cobwebs hold, dew and dust**

Outside the oaths they swear are the skeptic whispers among the citizens, among the cynics, among everyone else besides them, and Neinheart agrees with them, partially. Doe-eyed Lady Cygnus, kind and compassionate, so soft that it's blamed on youth and inexperience except she's fourteen and Lilin's younger and colder that the true fault lies on him and the Chief Knights. Lay a blanket on every puddle she has to cross, lest her dainty toes become dirty.

It's a terrible habit. They do it anyways.

She's trying to live up to the expectations. Her determination increases the guilt, but it's a given, swearing loyalty _is_ a given and what they do can be seen counterproductive, foolish, the tactician knows better than to indulge. Except it's not really indulging is it? She's the medium. The valuable porcelain bowl balanced beneath a raging waterfall. No one wants to take the risk of poking her.

Funny that despite her fragility she's more efficient than the other monarchies the strategist acknowledges. The King of Ludibrium, by all definition, is a joke. A child in the body of a grown adult, but at least he cares for his people and has a court to keep him in check. Not a threat thus Neinheart doesn't need to keep track of him. Not too closely.

On the other hand, King Abdullah the Eighth and Queen Areda, the pretentious buffoons, don't blink if their people suffer under their nobility favored reign. As long as the lidiums keep rolling in, the foul stench of broken corpses piling in their city means nothing. Cooperating with the Sand Bandits will require a Night Walker and a Dawn Warrior and Neinheart checks off the two knights off his clipboard, both young girls saluting before heading towards to the sky ferry. For now it'll be two. Later it'll be five.

He looks up, squinting. Sun beaming yet lies low above the horizon, well, as much as one can see the horizon at Empress Road with all the warm headed trees dotting the distance. Every step some novice make across the grass field, cutting corners because they barely woke on time, sprays a blanket of diamonds in the air, the dew yet to be dried.

His pocket watch says it's only eight.

Fair weather for the rest of the day then. Which means Captain Kyrin may arrive ahead of schedule. Tempted to order the Wind Archers to rally up and alter the weather, delay the inevitable for at least one more hour for extra planning.

Neinheart assigns three archers and two Thunder Breakers to Chryse.

Yevheart: sharp, dark eyes and hair, short, not as physically capable as the other archers, but he holds an unfaltering record and has a natural charisma. The tactician speaks clearly, "Yevheart, you'll act as captain. Report to me in three days time on how the giants are faring. Choose your scout wisely."

"Yes sir."

Personally Neinheart would choose Galvin to be scout. For a Striker she carries a presence of a thief with pale, petite features useful for fading out like light wallpaper and her nubby legs are quite swift. But just because Lilin's a babysitter doesn't mean he's one too and the knights need to learn. Unlike what the trainees say, his monocle can't reach every crevice so Neinheart keeps his tongue in check, more sensible to focus recalling a thousand methods to undermine Kyrin's predictably feigned ignorance of the raids; dealing with the pirate instructor is going to be another migraine, a rock stacked on top a tower of pebbles, but if another cargo gets stolen in Aqua Road one more time he'll let Hawkeye wreck the Nautilus. Bring all the strikers and set off the fireworks.

Athena Pierce can sit with him and watch the show. He'll buy the popcorn.

A strange shuffling sound in the distance, Empress Road is so quiet that he can discern it a good distance behind the two knights in front of him. Perhaps a dragging Noblesse who woke up to late, and the strategist can lecture the idiot after he imagines breaking his clipboard in half. Wasting his time if he keeps shutting his eyes looking at it but this is – _this is_ - -.

Flipping to the next page, the last knights in front of him are waiting, and he checks them out for a mission in Omega Sector. The rest of the knights in Empress's Road are on patrol duty. Neinheart can look back to the previous report in peace.

Or in quiet humiliation. Infuriating, the report sent by the guards protecting the major portal project failed to secure the, what, an apparently demonic girl, interfered by a woman whose description matches Aran's. Is Aran, now that he's read further; at least she's dedicated though a little slow. If she wanted to know what the Cygnus Knights has on demons so far she could have just asked. Predictable warrior DIY syndrome. But if it keeps the amnesiac Legend busy Lilin shouldn't have any complaints and Neinheart is relieved with a headache he doesn't need.

But that's that. This? The page - completely cringe worthy for what seems to be an essay of excuses, the next as deplorable as the previous. Neinheart should frame it and pin it on the halls of the Knight's Chambers so the novices will have a constant reminder of spectacular stupidity.

Another idea to jot down: a list of Mission Bloopers featuring the Chief Knight's commentary all in its finest, flinching sarcasm and disappointment. Neinheart will edit. The first will be the guards' report, filled with subtle fanboying over an "angelic looking demonic girl." Failed to isolate, failed to retrieve her, failed to properly confront Aran – apparently those two weren't as stoic as he believed, must revise records later. Contact Lilin, after he reads Lora's latest report: another Mystic Gate appeared in Mu Lung, critters that encounter it shrivel up into dry corpses. Dangerous and unpredictable, the gates have been popping out more frequently and they need to be dealt with. Once he has time Neinheart will look further into it. The Silent Crusade needs all the help they can get.

The shuffling draws closer. A lecture bubbles in the tactician's throat - and dies when he finally looks up, sharp eyes peering pass the few heads in front of him to see a familiar individual and her unicorn coming towards his way.

His opinion on efficient rulers is lacking obviously, not much example to judge them and he would say that most of them died in the old era, making Mercedes an endangered species. Royal protocol and etiquette, the olde language, deciphering double meanings in said olde language, and the art of circumvention – all of his past studies, rendered useless today, have become surprisingly useful in facing the Elvin queen. Except they all wither into ashes when it seems that Mercedes - ruler of the Frozen Fairy Forest, the sole dual bowguns wielder, the Queen of Elves, one of the legendary five – is dragging what seems to be a body behind her.

He's going to assume it's dead just in case.

Oh and apparently it _wasn't _quiet before she arrived. If there were birds chirping, they aren't now. Even the trees seem to be holding their breaths, not a single leaf rustling. Neinheart thinks he sees the grass yellow but that's probably him exaggerating. Or not.

He inhales. He exhales. No, it doesn't help, would be nice if he can tell Oz that she's a liar but all the Chief Knights are leading the critical party missions all over Ossyria, won't be coming back any time soon so he's alone. Nervousness is for awkward rookies, Neinheart's not nervous per say, but he really doesn't need to deal with this.

The Queen of Elves strolls down Empress's Road, all knights and guards staying at the sides – no confrontation, let Neinheart deal with her, fine, that _is_ his job after all, to handle every papert flying in the wind. White knee-high boots click undisturbed. Without the body dragging behind her, Mercedes appears she's on a business trip with her cool expression and the light, greeting smile on her lips.

"Good day, valiant Neinheart." Voice clear, which makes the picture all the more dissonant. "Forgive my intrusion. No courier can compete with the winds like I, and I eagerly wish to introduce thee to this man." When the pile of rumpled clothing and bamboo hat behind her makes a whine –_ it is alive_ -, Mercedes says a melodious "pardon me" before sending a swift kick to the body behind her, rendering it silent once more. Nonchalantly the ruthless Elvin queen tosses the man at Neinheart's feet like a satisfied cat presenting a captured mouse, brushing her hands off of invisible dirt. The tactician snorts. Who thought Mercedes was emotionally frigid? She's a self administered capped volcano with rolling extremes rumbling beneath the innocuous layers of dirt. Emphasis on the self administered.

With a straight face, the Neinheart bows. "Good day to you as well, Queen Mercedes. May I ask who this gentleman is?" Bring it on, he dealt the Resistance, the Black Wings, scandals, the Black Mage's commanders and survived That One Time, or what he personally think should be termed the Ereve's Near-Apocalypse. He can take on anything.

"Tis'," Mercedes begins nudging the unconscious man with her foot," is a flatterer who has sent me a letter a week ago. Calls himself the noble Shadow Warrior." Heeled boot stabs into the man's back. "When I did not answer he came to Elluel to see me."

This time Neinheart gives a better look at the man on the ground. Bending down he flips the man over, a glint on his chest, there pinned an emblem of ironic, white wings.

Mercedes doesn't look angry, standing there as if she knows every nook and cranny of the complex information network that is the Cygnus Knights and concluding that it's "fair enough," aka supremely inferior. As if her town is in any better state. Neinheart prefers if she's demanding how the Black Wings are accessing Elluel so easily despite the stationed knights, dealing tranquil fury is his damn hobby, but this - this is a blow on their pride and he can't say anything against that.

Adjusting his monocle, the strategist returns, "The Black Wings decided to stop knocking the front door."

The queen smiles, the mirth doesn't reach her eyes. "And pick locks at the back gate. But I am not here to require more security."No, she's here to insult them in person, which is why her fabulous unicorn is looking down at Neinheart for her, the white mount neighing softly, almost pompously. 'Forgive my intrusion' – right. "I came to hand my humble gift in person. However, I offer a suggestion for your empress. The Shadow Warrior reveals a sinister eye among your ranks."

"Every knight swears an oath of utmost loyalty to the Empress and Shinsoo. It is the foremost step."

"Then Hilla was invited in from the front gates?"

Practically hung her coat and offered her tea. "Hilla claimed to show evidence of her 'royal' lineage and demanded to hold audience. If not for her declaration that she secured the Skaia, a gem from a centuries old tale, the Cygnus Knights wouldn't have bothered." Came out of nowhere and strutted pass three lines of security to be ignored. Thankfully reinforced Lady Cygnus's rightful position as empress, but shows that they aren't all that secure. Water poured over a rock and cracks it through the pores. They're large, but whatever blind spots Neinheart misses Shinsoo can _feel_. Spies? A once justified paranoia is now an impossible notion, and damn it, he's getting too comfortable isn't he, to be so sure?

Humming, Mercedes raises a hand under her chin. "And yet she nearly succeeded if not for Phantom's grateful interference. Strange. How humans place so much value in blood and pretty stones."

"Is that an insult, Queen Mercedes?" Slips out unintentionally but the Elfin Queen's lips curve upward like the sharp ends of a bow, genuinely amused. Apparently she's one of _those_ .They're going to get along splendidly.

"Merely an observation." Then the smile drops, eyes glint like steel arrows. "Sir Neinheart, my caution is sincere. I witnessed the rise and ruin of more than few kingdoms. One of which was Empress Aria. I treasure the friendship I have with Empress Cygnus and fear her safety."

Considering it and already loathing it. Different to know one's flaws than someone else voicing them, making them reality, but he's not ten and Neinheart raises a hand to the two novice knights nearby watching dumbly. They scramble forward in attention.

"Have the Shadow Warrior escorted to Kidan. Tell him to entertain our guest until the Chief Knights return." The young knights salute before gingerly picking the man's arm over their shoulders until Neinheart shakes his head. "No need to be formal. He's a close friend." The knights look at each other and promptly drop the body, dragging it unceremoniously away like Mercedes did. They're learning.

"Queen Mercedes, will you be staying long in Ereve?"

She pauses, glances at Pegasus and glances back. "I would like to greet Empress Cygnus. We have been discussing the upcoming conference meeting through letters. However I prefer to see her in person concerning the matter. May she hold audience?"

The Cygnus Knights aren't open to just anyone, any time, and it doesn't matter how it was back then, it's different now no matter how much Lady Cygnus admires her. Which is why he glimpses down at his watch, says that Lady Cygnus should be done engaging with Shinsoo any minute now, and doesn't bother to look up to the flash of green and the conspicuous lack of person where Mercedes was a second ago. Favoritism softens anyone.

He snorts, watches the Legend's mighty magical steed trots pass him to seek out her teleported owner, extravagant white tail swings side to side, gradually shrinking as it reaches further down of Empress's Road.

Must be useful to teleport back to one's home at any given time and Neinheart scribbles it at the margin of his clipboard. Powering the Cygnus Knights is stressful but her highness can push a little more. An extra drop into the bowl won't make a difference.

Then for good measure, he adds another note under the previous one. The alliance with the elves is crucial, supposedly based on _mutual _trust and it's not that the trust isn't there; Mercedes is becoming increasingly comfortable, childish whims bleeding through her marble stature that her impatience doesn't offend him.

Lady Cygnus. The tiny raindrop blossom wrapped in plastic and hooked to an IV, and looks up to the grand yew tree. Neinheart understands. But this is a world where people ignore the sidewalk to cut through the grass, and that's why he has his job because at least he can filter who's entering into the park. Trust is turning away from a glaring arrow and the problem with efficient rulers is that they're too deep in muddy river that no one can take a good look at them. So what if she's a jilted lover mourning for a dead man – Neinheart was only courteous because it was a bad night and he was as shaken as the next person to empathize.

Too many knights gone that day and he chose it to take his mind off only to think back to it again when seeing Not-Freud. He's over it and he's not over it. There's a temptation to ask Mercedes until the Shadow Warrior flashes through his mind and he scoffs because what the hell is he doing?

Mercedes is Lady Cygnus's friend. Not his.

And until Neinheart can compartmentalize the elves and tuck them into a neat folder in the Ereve Archives, he'll play nice with them, but he'll paint the strings blue and guide the kites where his monocle can't see. Hopes that the bow won't notice and aim at the park.

* * *

"…must think me naïve, but I'm positive that in due time, everyone will realize that the Black Mage cannot be defeated without any alliances. " Hands folded on her lap now creasing her pale dress, chin tilted high enough for the sunlight catch the hope in her eyes in the right angle. They shine. "He is too great of a threat to be fought alone."

The gazebo is finally completed, signs of preparations for the upcoming MAU meeting touch everywhere: the equanimous round table, the brand new strategy board propped up next to it, the to-be universal symbol of the MAU sewn on the crimson and gold banners hung over the curled hooks on each pillar that holds the gazebo up, an ever constant presence of enforced unity. Designed for equal power. Inappropriate to have tea like this but Mercedes reluctantly sees the other perspective and concedes, already marking suggestions of what the neophyte conference room would require. Wonders what fool's idea it was to have the first meeting in a giant pavilion.

Mercedes leans back into the lush high chair and raises the teacup to her lips. "You believe in Hilla."

Empress Cygnus nods. "She would not have declared so and the Black Wings have become…confident."

Giant rabbit spies plucked left and right during the dispatched Cygnus Knights' nightly patrols, and provide nothing, transforming back into their previous forms upon defeat. Recapturing them in Ellinia's forest is trying to tip the ocean sideways to find a sunken ship: impossible. The Black Wings are tossing rotten tomatoes at Mercedes's front porch, taunting from afar yet daring higher endeavors each time. Confident is an understatement.

The Shadow Warrior will not be the last nuisance they will send.

"It is unfortunate that Hilla interrupted the first MAU conference meeting," the young empress sighs, looking to the side at the bristling trees outside the little white gazebo where the two royals sit. She lightly brushes a wandered leaf on her shoulder. "The first official meeting will have to be delayed for months later."

"I disagree." Cygnus's pale eyes draw back to her, surprised. Mercedes continues, voice smooth as cocoon silk. "Hilla attempted to dethrone thee. When that failed, she flaunted to the world like a peacock that she could sneak into the most secured complex holding the most prominent of figures. All of which in high risk, especially if Hilla was not alone."

"And Mr. Phantom…" The frail girl trails off, biting her lower lip, says more in her silence. Not one, but two were able to sneak in her crystal palace, seemingly honest and impenetrable with its see through walls and great towers but it's as fragile as its ruler and not quite honest after all. Has enough tunnels for foe and friend to exploit but it's not all surprising considering who dug them up.

Disheartened, Cygnus sighs again. "I am too idealistic after all."

"Pardon me, empress. When I said I disagree, I did not mean your proposal."

Cygnus tilts her head and this is why she's worth trusting because she can't see beyond the shiny sheen of her crystal walls; the similarities to Aria is there and Cygnus will become as formidable and cunning as her ancestor, but for now she's merely an ornamental flower vase like many royalties centuries ago. It's who tends the vase that deserves skepticism.

A small, external fertilizer wouldn't hurt and so Mercedes begins. "Hilla's timing was, by the contrary, perfect." The full moon to the lost travelers in the mountains. "There was many who would disagree against the need for the alliance."

The candle flickers on and Cygnus's lilts with open eyes. "But she proved it. Now nobody can argue that the world is in danger." Puts her hands over her mouth. "It's a terrible thing, I shouldn't sound too happy about it."

Mercedes shakes her head, her laugh like wind chimes as she draws aim. "Thou true purpose is not to defeat the Black Mage. It is to hold hands, is it not?"

Cygnus hesitantly replies, "Excuse me?"

"The Black Mage is indeed a mighty threat and his roars are ferocious. The claws the Black Wings own are not to be underestimated. But you desire the alliance to create world peace. Convert the petty differences to the giant target." Unlike Aria who strolled straight to the peace meeting and though her palace wasn't so feeble it broke in one blow and ironically made future negotiations a nightmare despite all her good intentions. "Do not be ashamed. It is sensible." Completely. "By now, news of the return of the commanders had reached Perion to Mu Lung."

The absences of the warrior instructor of Victoria and the Halflingers' chief, and Mu Lung hasn't even chosen a representative, outright ignorance can't be an excuse. Mercedes can see the debates, the negotiations, the whispers of previous betrayals and grievances in this humble complex, and Cygnus is no different, pouting and appears her age for once. A soft whine leaves the little girl. "Why does politics have to be so _complicated_? What meaning is there to fight each other? We live in the same world, don't we?" Leans forward to rest her chin on her hands, cheeks puffed. "All this distrust frustrates me to no end!"

The arrow releases despite Mercedes and she whispers harshly, "Thou art has hands over your eyes," and darts away, hopes the wind have snatched the words. Cygnus must surely be educated, or is she pampered even in that area? Irritation laps over each other like rowdy dogs, jumping higher and higher to the prey tied on a string, hanging, and the elf queen can't hide the tightness that creeps into her throat but it's not her place to say anything even though Cygnus looks at her with those questioning eyes, has heard her clearly.

Eager. Acknowledges her lack of sight, pressing her hands on the window to break its tinted glass but she's not ready, if she doesn't even that much then how can she ever handle the reality beyond the white elegant bars of Ereve? Stupidity is an error, ignorance is a decision, and no initiative might as well be a sin.

The Cygnus Knights are a child brandishing a toy sword and blanket cape who parades himself as a hero as he crushes the other children's sandcastles, demanding to join his game, though not as blindly cruel as they are invasive, their presence pervades everywhere. The world's sentinel. And here is the heart who beats on, feeding the blood to the infection.

Cygnus is not idealistic. She is arrogant.

Mercedes finishes her tea quickly even though it is cold, the citrus sweetness spread to a bland stream but it quenches the trembling embers in her stomach. Determined to close doors to the renewed fury, an old friend that has become too close for comfort.

_Sweet Pegasus, ready the feathers of thee – it is time._

The responding neigh rings through the gazebo, and the archer queen turns to see her loyal steed trotting towards the gazebo. Stands and makes a show of irritation, harrumphing softly to the side. "To be pestered nonstop by work! It seems I have overstayed, dear Cygnus and now I must hurry to attend my village."

Flustered, Cygnus stands, patting her dress and taking a slight bow. "It is understandable, Mercedes. I'm glad that we managed to have a proper talk after weeks of letters." Her smile wavers. "It is not the same."

Mercedes stretched her arm to the unicorn, Pegasus's fair snout pressing against her palm but she doesn't teleport right away. Instead she gives a lasting glance to the young empress and says. "I have left a note on the table – take my advice if you please." With more sympathy. "Empress Cygnus, the MAU is a splendid idea. Allowing thou inner enemy to shaken thy morale will give triumph to our enemy."

"But thou must tear away the veil yourself." Cryptic, and the confusion shows because she can't read between the lines yet but she will soon. She must if she doesn't want her house to fall.

With Pegasus, Mercedes teleports to Elluel.

* * *

It's a small, charming bakery café that has ornamental clay shoes in reds, yellows, and greens hanging from the ceiling. Unique; white tiles plastered on one side of the shop, plain orange clay spread on the opposite side, and wood boarded walls for the rest. Quirky but it works with this homely place where the customers, red-faced lumberjacks with dripping axes by their feet, appear right at home, sitting on plush barstool chairs and chortling with the young waitresses behind the counters. Bodices and cotton circle skirts – very traditional and rural: ten points for complimentary uniforms.

It reflects El Nath, a snowy town of pinewood and weathered bricks, no MapleDonalds or Moonbucks in sight, and if it is embodied into a person it would be an elderly woman in a white apron who could be everyone's grandmother. Lives in a hut in the middle of nowhere, loves to have her family members visiting. Arms full of baskets filled with breads and jams, a wrinkled face with tender eyes, and after she stuffs her bouncing brats with hot soup she'll smother them with blankets in front of a fireplace.

Only a jackass would steal from his grandmother.

Jackass and Master Thief can be interchangeable depending who asks but Phantom isn't a jackass, really he isn't, just habit that he's pocketing four different jam jars before he takes three steps pass the first aisle and catches himself, putting the jams back with labels fronts where they belong because, honestly, the Master Thief of all time stealing jams from a grandma bakery. Losing dignity points, god, fingers so restless that his pockets will be full of wedding rings and cheap bead bracelets without him noticing the additional weight and he has plenty more self-control than this – except not really since he doesn't care.

At least Alcaster is here, sitting on the farthest end of the counter, holding a mug and staring at the space, wistful. Phantom slips into the barstool chair next to the alchemist and grins when the older man directs his gaze at the thief, tilting.

"Hello sir, are you Alcaster the Alchemist of El Nath?" Undoubtedly it's the ancient alchemist, has the bushy white moustache and beard, the ultramarine hood and robes, so long that the ends rumple around and over his slippers and though he's missing the pointy hat, the staff compensates and completes the archetypical old sage image. Phantom sticks his hand out and says," I'm Harold Shammad, researcher of – "

Alcaster grasps the offered hand, shakes firmly with crinkled eyes. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Phantom. Oh don't look so surprise, Ms. Christiane told me beforehand that you were coming. But dear lad, no researcher would wear such extravagant clothes!" And with a tut Alcaster lightly taps Phantom's pristine white glove. "It's quite amusing that I am centuries older than a man from centuries ago."

Closing his paused mouth, Christiane prepping up not quite what he expected but this speeds things up quite a bit - the least the sorcerer can do is allow Phantom have his fun but no matter. The thief inquires," How much has she told you?"

"Enough to prove to me you are one of the Legends." Alcaster shakes his head. "Wise for her to do so. There have been only two people who have come to me about the Black Mage. You, and before you a demon."

That's new. "A demon?"

Alcaster smiles a toothy grin. "Do not worry. I did not trust him lest he uses the information for misdeeds and thus supplied him very little. For you, however, I would give as much as I can offer. My teacher has told me the sheer bravery the Legends displayed against the Black Mage."

Finally an answer, an explanation because he's so far behind the times, a misplaced one of a kind scroll carrying the secrets of the universe tucked between picture books in a children's library; hiring a historian couldn't make sense of what he knew and what happened to the world and Freud better appreciate the effort when Phantom succeeds damn it.

Leaning closer, Phantom asks, "Then can you tell me what the _real_ year is?"

Alcaster appears bewildered for a moment, wrinkles lengthening, and Phantom says flatly, "It's not 2012. Before the seal it was…it was…"

He looks away, exasperated with the complicated world and exhales, continuing, "I can't remember. 2012 is too small. Before the seal the year was different –a big number, perhaps in the ten thousands or higher, but it's not 2012."

Doesn't know if it's because he's literally a fish out of temporal water that the resignation is setting in, thoughts inclined to become uselessly philosophical and deadened and he's way too young to play with old photos, but every time Phantom stops to admire a fine car he can't help but notice how nobody cares, this generation so used to the incredible technology dancing in their fingertips that they can take it for granted.

This generation. Wow, if that doesn't make him sound like an old fart he doesn't know what will.

At least Alcaster seems to comprehend, nodding slowly before leaning closer. He asks, "Then you do not know what occurred after the Black Mage was sealed." Nope not at all, was busy being a living refrigerator in the middle of an ocean, not the idea vacation spot after the most epic battle in history. The alchemist takes a long drink from his mug, bony hands rubbing it as if to hold the lingering heat there and says, "I can only pass down what my teacher has told me. It may not be completely accurate…"

"Whatever you know is more useful than any textbook there is."

"And should be," the alchemist answers. "After all, whatever books that existed during the battle against the Black Mage were intentionally burned."

Phantom's eyebrows shoot beneath his bangs. He hasn't heard of this at all. Alcaster holds up a hand to cap the upcoming onslaught of questions like an oil spill. "Allow me to start from the beginning, after the Black Mage was sealed. It will be easier." The alchemist hands his mug to a passing waitress along with a tip. "As I said, what I know is passed from my teacher, which was passed by his teacher and so forth. It may not be accurate, but hopefully it should answer most of your concerns."

"Then by all means start," says Phantom calmly, belying the eagerness underneath.

Alcaster takes out a leather notebook and a pen from a hidden pocket in the folds of his robes, drawing a bold line across a page. As he writes the alchemist explains. "After the Black Mage was sealed, everyone lost awareness of time. One theory stated it was because Rhinne woke up. The goddess of time, trapped under the clutches of darkness and nightmares for so long, was free. A legend said that every time Rhinne wakes up, time stops. That is why some say that Maple World is but a dream of hers. That is why some say that she _never _wakes up. When she does, she doesn't."

The master thief takes this silently, tasting the words, and decides it needs a little seasoning because it's incomplete. Time is Rhinne's specialty, not knowledge. "The Black Mage is the Transcendent of Light," he whispers and apparently it's not common information, Alcaster looking at him like a newborn deer and if a three hundred year old man doesn't know that, well, that says enough for everyone after Light – not really light in the sense of the photons and waves, more scientific specifics he's not sure of, and the magical version is what the Dawn Warrior has down pat. No, the mouse once said the Light with the sparkly capital L is associated with the will to pursue knowledge. Illumination. Awareness.

_Lost awareness is it?_

"Then Rhinne goes back to sleep and time flows naturally again. That may explain why I forgot. But there are no records after that. What happened?"

Alcaster begins ticking marks on the line. "The Black Mage commanders. Most of them vanished, but some stayed behind to keep slaughtering. Force a dying war to live." And probably went on for a while if Alcaster's face means anything and it wouldn't be a surprise, only five people bothered to stand up against the Black Mage and they were all frozen in time, ha ha time jokes – god that's pathetic. "Eventually a few realized that the war isn't for the Black Mage anymore. The people killed were not randomly chosen."

"Genocide?"

Alcaster shakes his head. "No. It was the death of a generation. Anyone who lived during the Black Mage's reign was promptly killed. Orphans were common, and with the deaths of so many adults, so was illiteracy."

"Is that why…?"

Laughter erupts behind Phantom and the thief turns to see the lumberjacks in all smiles. He nearly forgot he's still inside the bakery café. Alcaster starts chuckling next to him as well. "Times weren't easy back in my day as well. It's more peaceful nowadays though the accursed Black Mage's supporters still cause havoc."

"The death of a generation…that sounds like something to be imprinted on paper. Why couldn't my intelligence team gather _that _up?" Phantom asks mostly to himself as he rubs his nape, stretching.

Alcaster raises a finger for a waitress to come, orders another reindeer milk tea before murmuring. "The slaughtering of the generation centered in Ossyria, but the adventurers in Victoria Island were safe from it though they suffered other problems. Even though Athena Pierce was the leader of the Altaire Camp, the refugees faced obstacle after obstacle."

Altaire Camp sounds familiar…and _is _familiar. It's the expedition group that left just when they marched for the Black Mage because apparently running away from the heart of a nuclear explosion would avoid the radiation. But _Athena? _Shy, unassuming, unexpectedly incredibly helpful and nice Athena despite being an elf? Always stuck out because of it. It's not that Phantom has prejudice against that particular fairy race, but he sat front row to Mercedes' royal bitching about humans and their contagious stupidity and blah de blah de blah and damn if it wasn't a grand performance – still reigns champion over _Luminous's_ bitching about _him_.

It was quite the opera. Just thinking about it brings a tear to his eye.

Gotta focus, and so the thief says, "Eventually the people at Victoria Island reconnected with the people at Ossyria."

"Indeed. Decks rose in Orbis and the beanstalk in the center of Victoria Island became the Port Road Tree," confirms Alcaster. "As refugees rushed to the northwest for solace, the explorers returned to Ossyria to battle against what's left of the Black Mage's commanders and their armies. The explorers stood victorious."

Notices the inflection. "That wasn't the end of it."

Alcaster nods. "When the explorers returned to their new homes, persistent warmongers followed them and raised chaos in Victoria Island as well. Of course they were squashed down, but not without leaving a scar on the island." The alchemist stares off into space, whispering, "In the flames of war, knowledge was burned. Rhinne's awakening and the Light's sealing, a decimated generation, most of its records lost to fire…three hundred years ago no one had the correct grasp of what the year was anymore."

"Three hundred years ago?" Phantom exclaims. "So you know _when _it happened."

"My teacher lived through it to write that particular journal entry down. Unsurprisingly the younguns today are unaware of it besides a passing mention in their schoolbooks, though all of Maple World struggled under its influence. And many today don't mind how thousands of years of history has fallen before 337 years ago. Everyone except the most zealous of historians is content that there's at least a consistent timeline to keep track of."

The ancient alchemist sighs, writing the last of the notations on the timeline, rips it out to hand it to Phantom. "And that is the rest of it. One day a group of scholars came together to restart the timeline since tracking backwards to the Black Mage's reign – which mostly everyone had forgotten during the time – was simply impossible."

Directing his watery, bleary orbs to Phantom, Alcaster says," The world is indeed older than 2012 years, Phantom. But it is those 2012 years that it was unharmed."

* * *

The village sings her arrival.

The Elf's Harp croons, Elluel welcoming with tender eyes and open arms and Mercedes returns the embrace quickly, too quickly for her taste but there's too much work and too little time, a desert trying to fit itself into an hourglass, and the paperwork never seems to end. Progress is minimal, extremely aggravating because long jumps is easier to mark than small steps, speed her specialty, and it's funny how she wants time to go backwards, to sprint forward, not sure what she wants anymore. She's a boat in a tumbling ocean going everywhere and nowhere all at once.

The conversation with Empress Cygnus - she needs to set it aside, let it raise dust before taking it out again. She's becoming too close.

Mercedes strides to her desk, heart tired, mind determined, but her hand reaches for the ornate shelf to the thin, worn pamphlet squished between two thick tomes on her shelf. Something she has written ages ago when it was terribly difficult to recall the names of the rulers besides her. The queen of the nymphs had an atrociously long name and title, common respect in the court to pronounce it perfectly when addressing her. The sylphs were strange; like the short lived mortals they passed the heritance of the throne though blood, the line of Ephenia the last she remembered before the curse.

The heat washes over her and her throat tightens. Fury is treading too closely again, nearly thrusting herself into every matter and the elf queen coughs a sour laugh to expel it. Centuries. Centuries! Kingdoms rise and fall, her words, cold and true as if written into stone like a prophecy.

Both races of fairy are strangers now.

Picking up a quill in an ink bottle on the corner of her desk and with a steady hand she marks a straight, unforgiving black line through the list of names on the first page, the second page, the third page, flips to the back for the fourth - each name like a corpse burning into ashes until Mercedes simply crumbles the pamphlet, makes care not to let the wet ink smear in her hands. Glad that she doesn't care, feels a little unsteady but in the sense that she's removing creaky furniture from her living room and replacing them with gifts, albeit not exactly what she asks for.

She can almost hear the echoes of the other heroes mocking her like drops in a dank cave. How meaninglessly despicable to drag her into the mud to see the world by their side only to prove that even though they may be the exceptions they don't represent the forest they're in. Humans are humans and after all only four of them stood up.

Mercedes assorts through the new piles of papers on her desk. Know she's weak, angry but it's useless, can only try to fix that particular problem except she's tethered to her village like a leash and dares not stray too far from her only master and the slimes aren't getting any stronger. She pauses at a message from the human scientists, wears a smirk because she'll never forget how she had to rely on them and the insolent sylphs in Ellin Forest, or Ellinia as they call it today, and a solitary archaeologist in the barren wasteland that is the Northern Rocky Mountains.

What the humans have done in her absence is…devastating: the north is the result of a conflagration that scorched the mountains dry and drained the sustenance of the soil, leaving fragile, bemoaning monster stumps that used to be the tree rods, children of broken mothers. Henesys is tolerable, most likely because Athena had a say in the construction when it was built. Venturing to the far west was a nightmare, Kerning City a thick and heavy air with towers of black that rolls into the sky and kills the sun. A grotesque blotch of grays and artificial creations smashed together. A jungle of pipelines. On the newly purchased map of Victoria Island on her desk, Kerning City is an ugly stain and Mercedes purposely rolls the map halfway to cover it, focusing on the east.

Turning back time is a useless endeavor.

_Fie, the muse murders sleep and long I shall sleep no more._

A rapping upon her door, and though to be disturbed is a common occurrence, Mercedes cries," Prithee, stir me no more, feather quests be banned till morrow! If thy purpose carries weight, name it and let the crown strike the gavel."

"Hail Mercedes, this is Lalich of the Cygnus Knights. I'm here for your reminder."

The dispatched representative? The sun has yet grazed the center of the sky, surely cannot be the daily report and Mercedes opens the door, the tall knight saluting. His curled, dark moustache twitches as he speaks, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I'm here to give you back your message as you wished." In his leather gloved hand is indeed a simple white envelope. "Also I was wondering about the child you took out of the village the other day…Did the child wake up from the curse?"

Fingering the message in her hands, Mercedes stiffens in the way trees do when fires lick their trunk black. "I…do not recall asking you of a reminder nor take anyone from the village as of late." The knights are extra pairs of eyes and arms, the Great Spirit sigh if they're used for anything more.

Lalich's rigid face pulls toward the center like a continental formation. "Excuse me? Are you sure you didn't take a child from Elluel? You said you wanted to try to remove the curse…" Holding his hands up in an apologetic gesture. "Of course, I'm sure you know what you're doing. I just wanted to make sure the kid was okay…"

Mercedes can only imagine how she looks in that moment, the Cygnus Knight's blocky constitution tightens until he has become more statue than man, preparing to brave through a thousand years of erosion in one go. Her voice like crawling black widows, Mercedes whispers, "Sir Lalich, seconds ago I have teleported from Ereve. Please tell me what _I_ have asked of _thou _concerning the child in every detail."

"This…" The knight swallows, sweat beading on his brow beneath his helmet. "This morning I saw you leaving with one of the frozen elf children. Before you left you gave me that letter and told me to give it to you at eleven o'clock. To remind yourself."

The knight doesn't flinch when she tears through the white envelope, the pieces slip through her fingers like ashes. The handwriting is like a child's, letters large and unsteady and _not_ as elegant and refined as hers.

_If you ever want to see the elf child again, come to the Verne Mine in Edelstein and speak to Le Tierre of the Black Wings. From, an Old Friend. _

It ends with a stamp of the Black Wings' symbol and when does the Black Wings employ children to do their writing – wait, _they don't,_ and Mercedes doesn't know whether to give in to the merciless rage building up or laugh, suddenly the tribulations plaguing Elluel makes sense. So the Cygnus Knights aren't so reckless.

But Lalich still stands there, anticipating, so she clenches her teeth like ivory soldiers clamping together and marches around the Cygnus guard, hissing under her breath, "Irony, thou fustian cousin – baffle the queen and shake her into a pitiful caitiff before thy sneaping ways! The Black Wings flees with mine child from lowly ministers as I return from their noble house to speak of the recreants! Irony, cursed irony!"

"Queen Mercedes? I didn't quite catch that…"

No doubt the dullard doesn't and he follows her like a worried dog, can't see the knife smirk on her lips and oh Phantom, unbeknownst to the thief there is more than one actor on stage, and the queen stomps straight towards the Sacred Tree. Pink blossoms dance towards her, only to shy away as she shoos them away, the road towards the elders free for like the elf equivalent of a red carpet. Elder Philius and Elder Astilda remain, Danika most likely training, and both women bow to the approaching queen who announces, "The Black Wings hath kidnapped a child branched of our blood! I shall depart to Edelstein immediately – look to Elluel."

The Cygnus guard behind her sputters, concerned for the punishment he will deal when he reports to Neinheart.

Bitter sweet satisfaction swells - the tainted water supply, the wretched man sized rabbits, and finally the Shadow Warrior – all caused by one name, the Black Wings are becoming cocky and it's time to return the favor. Her fingers itch for a neck that isn't there. Yet.

"But that can't be - we haven't seen…" Lalich trails off behind her and his mouth drops like a falling a fruit, an epiphany. "A disguise master. The Black Wings have a disguise master – goddesses, I'm an idiot! I'm so sorry, Mercedes, I -"

"Sir Lalich, the Black Wings are sly. Anyone would befall to the insidious tricks they inflict upon you," soothes Philius before turning to Mercedes with more heat. "My liege, cup thy heart in soft pond. Which child?"

At Mercedes questioning glance, Lalich says, "Little boy with a hat. Stands next to two other kids outside of the Elf School…"

Elder Astilda raises her hands to her mouth is horror. "No other than sweet Moony! To swipe young blood – lax is our eyes and ears for a child in his company was by a malicious fox hawked at! Is shame to be our new custom?"

"Shame? Wha - no! It's my fault!" Sir Lalich steps forward, hand to his chest like a prayer. "You've all been terribly busy and it was our duty to protect. It is our responsibility!"

The elf queen directs her gaze back to the Cygnus knight. "Summon dear Danika and reinforce Elluel's borders. I shall go alone to Edelstein to retrieve Moony back home. Take care not to be fooled twice if the Black Wings return."

The man gawks. "No disrespect, Queen Mercedes, but you are heading into enemy territory alone. This is the Black Wings we're talking about and who knows what they'll do? It can be a trap – "

Enough lip, the fool has done enough, clearly doesn't have the sense to know his place and needs to learn his place – not even the council can change her mind, less alone this human. With a piercing glare that can cow balrogs, Mercedes tones, "I am the queen of the elves. I do not fear the Black Wings and their petty games – they must fear _me _for invoking _my _wrath!"

Outright boasting are warriors' traits, far from the elegant pride archers such as she carry, but it's not to comfort the concerned human as much as what he reports back.

Waving behind her, Mercedes says to the awed human, "Thou not worry. I understand my limits and I will enter only to have the child back." Dragging the fragile alliance into an open war will paint a target on Elluel and Mercedes's dual bowguns cannot compete with thousands; only a fool would fight a battle she cannot win.

_Oh, yet badged in my pointed steels is Enlil's wrath, quivering to dance with the cyclones once more. Black Wings, thou hath not strung me to the halter over my doom – thou has gifted me! _The ruthless queen smirks, blue eyes like pair of deep lakes, so deep that the sun's light cannot penetrate its depths. The elf child - flesh and blood only in name and the worry pools, but she can't help the paradoxical relief that joins in. It's been so long, _so long, _and the dual bowguns holstered on her hips cackles, the hunger to feast is there and condemn her after she hunts.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter was supposed to be posted way later but the recent reviews have nudged me to update. Oh you wonderful people.

NPCs in this chapter:

1) Alcaster; hangs out in El Nath, makes snowglobes and is over three hundred years old as he claimed in Phantom's storyline. Although a lot of people say that the heroes were sealed 300 years ago, Alcaster said "over" so I'm making my own guesses on the timeline now.

Thank you for reading.


	7. Stick and stone added to the nets

**Part 1**

**Chapter 6**

**Stick and stone added to the nets**

Walking up the spiraling stairs of Port Road Tree is trivial and so Mercedes skips it. The elves were becoming increasingly well known before, but now it's definite that _everyone _knows who they are and where they are and if that's the case it's pointless to be subtle. Pegasus flies straight from Elluel to the port, high above the human heads down below and even still Mercedes wrinkles her nose. The odor of merchants and travelers trapped in crowded, cramp space of human body heat and sweat is never appealing.

And to think she'll have to suffer the same during the trip to Edelstein. Long ago only one to four people accompanied her during her trips without Pegasus and now she may have to be in the company of many. Revolting.

It does not leave her, though, that among the three gates of Port Road – one for Orbis, for Ereve, and finally Edelstein – there is no one entering or leaving from the gate of the industrialization country. The wooden boards to and from Orbis and Ereve are trodden with dirt and prints, trampled papers and advertisements, and the trash cans close by the entrances are filled with various garbage and plastic bags of the human retching, nearly spilling from the top.

Passing the stairs that hugs the beanstalk, ignoring the gapes of travelers as he flies higher, Pegasus lands gracefully on the Edelstein's gate, the highest gate, and the emptiest. Beneath her heels Mercedes can feel the steadiness of the floorboards. Whispering to Pegasus to leave, patting the unique beast's white snout because it's better for him this way. Willing to travel short distances such as within the four corners of Victoria Island and the various smaller islands that float near, but Edelstein is quite far despite being the closest largest island. Pegasus shakes his head, desires to fly for her, but Mercedes simply gestures towards the distant clouds from the direction of Edelstein. They sing ominous lullabies among the blue expanse and Mercedes says, "Toil not thy fine hair, virgin soul of Ellin. Prithee, seek reprieve and make thy sighing muscles feather light till morrow."

No more words, the Elvin Queen enters Edelstein's port, which is truly as empty as its entrance: a dock with a lone, humble blimp and a man with rusty red hair snoring inside the open gondola, face planted on the steering wheel. Mercedes can feel her mood brighten - the less the merrier - though it is by the slightest.

White heels click across the dock and the pilot stirs with every step, groggily awake by the time Mercedes is in front of the blimp. Yawning and stretching out his stiff, faded leather jacket, the nametag "Ace the Pilot" is etched on dog tags on his chest, the redhead grumbles, "M'm it mate, I swear I got the ice, didn't lose it…"

Mercedes responds," Dear Ace, I wish to aboard for a trip to Edelstein." Not the voice he is expecting, the pilot startles fully awake, pushes his pilot goggles to the edge of his aviator cap, squinting eyes wide. Continuing, the archer lays her hand out in front of him with a few coins of mesos.

"Oh…you're not Brighton." The pilot's face is as red as his hair. Glances down at the coins on Mercedes's and says stupidly, "And that's not enough."

The blonde archer flips the mesos around, replies," These coins are genuine gold." Nothing like the painted substitutes they use nowadays. "Hath no dates." An unfortunate thing. "Easily fetches more than a thousand mesos for each coin."

Boggled, Ace scrutinizes the mesos, comically staring back and forth from the money and Mercedes's face. "Uh, trip fee's only eight hundred mesos?"

"Pay no mind." Because Mercedes is old money, _literally_ old money, mesos was and never will be an issue, and she hooks her hand over the gondola's door and unlocks it, letting herself in and taking the passenger seat behind the pilot. "If it is possible, please make haste. A business of great paramount requires my attention in Edelstein."

The pilot blows his red bangs away his eyes. "Lady, not to be rude but you sure it's Edelstein you want to go? Not the best place to go for vacation nowadays."

Agreed, no one travels to Edelstein with recreation in mind with the unreasonably soaring taxes on anything that associated with the town, which is why travel and tourism have decreased exponentially during the previous years. Mercedes knows well. She has the papers.

"It is for business." Impertinent. To make her repeat. Thinks her as a dunce to simply traverse to Black Wings territory for play?

Thankfully the pilot gives in, turning back to start up the blimp with an efficiency that tells experience and speed that reveals reluctance. Doesn't want her money, cares for a stranger's safety and long ago Mercedes would appreciate the gesture.

Instead her fingers stroke the smooth spines of her bowguns before clawing into her palm, nearly hard enough to draw blood because she's still so angry that it seems her blood would boil out of her skin with or without her penetrating her flesh and how, _how_ can she be so primitive it's not like her at all –

Wants the elf child back. Wants to _hurt_ the Black Wings. The wrong moment to burn the hay and the trip seems to be a thousand centuries away.

As the blimp rise, the all consuming noise of the working engines blend with the thundering vacuum of the wind around her, Mercedes gives into the sky. Hopes a thousand centuries is enough to let the tension fade.

* * *

"WOMAN, IF WE WATCH ONE MORE FLIPPING EPISODE OF MY LITTLE PONY I SWEAR TO NOVA – "

Tear cackles, a complete contrast to the cheery laughter of cartoon ponies frolicking in the television screen. She gathers her legs to her chest, a green pajama ball with wings squished among comfy couch cushions. She says triumphantly, "Hah!_ I_ have the remote control so _I_ get to control what we watch!"

Eskalade's intangible body rolls around the living room, sometimes vanishing beyond the wooden walls in frustration, can't go too far because of the Soul Ring's radius. Tear giggles, "And I thought you liked My Little Pony! You were _raving_ over Rarity two days ago…"

The dragon stops rolling, scaly face violet and he sputters. Aran can see the words struggling to escape, and it takes a moment for him to finally release, "RAVING? _RAVING?_ WHAT RAVING? I LIKE _REAL_ WOMEN, NOT FICTIONAL ANIMALS. THIS SHOW IS FOR LITTLE GIRLS LIKE _YOU_. NOT WARRIOR DRAGONS GODS LIKE _ME_."

He turns to Aran and demands, "GRAB THE REMOTE FROM HER! SABER DAMN ME - I _REFUSE_ TO BECOME A BRONY!"

The snow haired warrior groans, lays back into the couch next to Tear whose spring leaf eyes are intent on the television screen. "Do you have to yell so early in the morning?" To once think Maha's tantrums were bad, Aran swears Eskalade's voice can reach the mainland if the dragon had a physical throat.

She is greeted with an accusatory, ghostly talon going through Tear's head to point directly at her. "MORNING, NOON, NIGHT – TIME MOVES A THOUSAND TIMES SLOWER IN THIS RIDICULOUS WORLD THAN IN GRANDIS. WHO ARE THE STUPID OVERSEERS WHO MADE THIS WORLD'S SUN?"

Eyes still on the screen, Tear says, "Eskalade, your hand is through my head. It feels cold. Stawp it."

The dragon erupts into another scream. "DIDYA HEAR THAT ARAN? SHE CAN'T PRONOUNCE PROPER WORDS ANYMORE! OH SABER, WHAT HAPPENED TO SINGING? TO DANCING? FIGHTING CRIME? SHOWING OFF MINI SKIRTS AND CREAMY LEGS? WHAT HAPPENED TO _ANGELIC BUSTER?!"_

"Angelic Buster is learning Maple World's culture, leave her alone." Tear replies, dark wings hugging her form. "Can you tone it down a bit? I can't hear the TV."

Eskalade proceeds to do the opposite and raises his volume, lecturing about productivity, the importance of the transference of a male's vitality through excessive feminine sensuality and tight pants, and Aran tunes out, sees pale blue hair from the corner of her eyes. Walking from the kitchen is Lilin and the warrior stands up, walks towards her to greet.

"Good morning Lil –"

A grey blur later, Aran feels her back on the ground and searing pain on her forehead. Part of her says it's nothing, definitely had dealt worse than this though another part says it _really freaking hurts ow, _and everything is white exploding stars behind her vision. She gingerly touches her forehead, nothing wet, just a scratch, and looks at her side where sits a reinforced mithril, twenty-five pound dumbbell.

The warrior doesn't hear frolicking ponies and a raging dragon anymore.

Lilin has the other dumbbell hanging loosely yet threateningly in her hand by her hip, and when she directs her grey eyes at Tear on the couch the Novan squeaks, no longer sure of the unpredictability that is the little training manager. Eskalade is too big for his whole form to fit into the living room, head through the wall cut off by the neck like a paradoxical living, unliving head trophy and his blue eyes bulge. Silently intrigued.

Aran immediately sits up and bows her head before the master of the house, knows the pattern by heart: must show submission first and it is an unspoken rule to never. Ask. Questions. No talking, wait for the alpha wolf to begin and continue from there as safely as possible.

Devoting to the routine, alpha wolf Lilin begins calmly. "There's something wrong in this room."

The glaive user does not twitch. "The TV is on."

Lilin is swaying the dumbbell in her hand now.

Aran has toiled through harsher battles, harsher aches and injuries and it's not the dumbbell that she's wary of. It must be through blood because both Neinheart and Lilin has this terrifying, natural ability to discipline; they're much slenderer and smaller than those below them and yet create a presence as if one is facing the father of all balrogs. A flicker of narrowing grey eyes. Aran holds her breath.

"It _was _on." Because Tear turned it off, right, no more frolicking ponies remember? Haha - 'remember' - that's funny because she has amnesia _oh my god Aran keep it together. _Tear has been rubbing off on her.

Forcing her mind to turn gears through the dull pain, the warrior finally gulps because she prefers an openly cranky Lilin than an outwardly tranquil Lilin. It is never a good thing. Means torture training for the next month if the warrior doesn't get this right.

Rolling her eyes, Lilin says "Look around you. Then answer properly."

So Aran does. Tear is fiddling with the remote control nervously, poor girl hasn't seen this face of Lilin yet while Eskalade's head is turned to the side whistling, eyes glancing back at the blunette as if waiting to see the dynamites set off. Dangerous but one can't take their eyes off. The round coffee table in front of the couch has a half full bag of potato chips and a kettle, accompanied with one steaming mug and an empty one; nothing on the warm colored walls, clean as yesterday as the day before yesterday.

The living room has nothing particularly offensive.

…Which means the offensive item is Aran herself.

Instantly the warrior hops into the traditional Mu Lung bow, knees and hands on the ground, hands in a triangle because she's afraid of a twelve year old girl and _justifiably_ _so. _"I have been unproductive for the past few days and I humbly beg for forgiveness." She pretends she didn't squeak like Tear saying that.

She hears Eskalade whooping behind her. "WHAT DID I SAY, SWEETCHEEKS? LAZY! YA CAN'T USE ARAN AS AN EXCUSE 'CUS SHE'S BEEN _LAZY._"

_Oh god shut up Eskalade, _thinks Aran, exasperated.

The dumbbell bounces in front of her, nearly breaks the wooden board floor, and Aran looks up to see Lilin huffing. "Correct! You haven't been training as much as you used to. Look up!" Lilin, holding a clipboard, flips it around to show the first page: a graph chart that has a somewhat steady red line that drops towards the end. "You're either training or doing a quest, yet you have been doing neither of them lately! Progress is plummeting!"

The warrior looks down again because she really hasn't been doing anything hasn't she? Hasn't thought of it once during the past few days and every reminder Lilin says is like a blunt hammer pounding a skewed blade straight again. "What happened to fetching your memories?" Clang. "Carrying Maha?" Clang. "Becoming the Hero you used to be?"

Except the blade has been pounded too hard, bent again but perfectly reflects Aran's recent sense of priorities of entertaining the Novans. God she needs to get her head back in the game, get her resolve back, and that doesn't seem to be a problem anymore now that the guilt is catching up –

Lilin sighs. Aran blinks.

"Hey," the little blunette says, "nothing's wrong with a break every now and then. Which is why I didn't say anything for the past few days." Grey eyes soften. "And you also do this annoying thing of getting emotional if you think about getting your memories too much. Like a teenager." Mutters something about Neinheart and 'what kind of prodigy doesn't know how to outsmart his hormones ugh.' Then she lightly taps the clipboard on top of Aran's snow haired head, almost indulgent. "What did I say? More doing, less thinking."

The warrior smiles because it's rare for Lilin to voice her concern like she does with Neinheart at times, and it means so much to be seen as family. An older sister.

Then the blunette smirks as she flips a page on her clipboard. "But now that you are sufficiently rested and less stressed, I created a new diet schedule and a training quota for every day you are away from Rien." And there goes the family moment out of the window and trampled over by stampeding boars.

"You won't be able to come back home every day like you used to. The demon investigation will require stealth, maybe night reconnaissance like government agents, but you still can't slack off!" Yes because Lilin knows even if Aran is a _calorie _off schedule the blunette will get the butter knife.

Then the little training manager points at Tear who flinches in response. "You too! You regularly eat three times more than Aran does and the heater broke twice to accommodate your temperature! Just because Aran pities you doesn't mean I do. And _I _don't keep freeloaders in this house!"

Eskalade roars to deaf ears. "HEY! THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN YELL AT BABY ANGEL IS ME! AND TEAR'S BEEN DOING A _GOOD_ JOB LEARNING THE CULTURE HERE!"

Culture namely technology, entertainment, mainstream music and fashion - "Who wore it better?" - and okay, maybe Aran should just dig a hole into the floor and stick her head in there for a _long_ time.

Lilin frowns and nudges Aran with her foot to stand up, gesturing towards Eskalade's shape. "Is he yelling at me? If he is, tell him to shut up. I'm doing him a favor."

Tear's astonished, Eskalade's shocked, and Aran hides her snort because Lilin can only see the dragon like she see Maha: a blurry, glowing shape that's suspended in midair, occasionally blaring out light when it becomes a tad too emotional. Becoming well acquainted with Eskalade recently, the glaive user distractedly thinks if it's more useful to be spiritually unskillful.

The blunette beckons the brunette foreigner to come forward as Eskalade tries to wrap his mind around of being told by a little girl. "Aran can take care of herself no matter how useless she seems sometimes. But I made a schedule for you so come here. You are no longer a guest and now a regular in this household…" Lilin's eyes, like a tiger's, glint in warning. "If you don't contribute, you better pray to the Overseers because friendship won't save your tail when I send you off to the moon – _and plunge it down_."

Aran doesn't understand the reference, but even without context the idea of being on a falling moon sounds terrifying and Tear and Eskalade are gaping so it must be something truly horrifying. And Aran can't do anything if it happens because Lilin may not be cruel and yet she is. If the blunette _does_ kick Tear out, it'll be to 'aid her adjustment,' no excuses.

As Eskalade growls out threats and curses, Tear tilts her head and presses a finger on the clipboard, a specific time slot next to her name. "Uh, what is that? I'm not complaining or anything since I was kinda freeloading off of you and all…but I dunno what the little square stands for."

Indeed there are no words in the specific time slot except a smaller box inside it. Aran sees Lilin's grin becomes like a shark's smile when the little girl provides," Oh that? That stands for Kerning Square. You're a celebrity back in Grandis, right?"

Eskalade promptly shuts up, ghostly ears twitching.

"I thought you could be a celebrity in Maple World as well. Which is why I signed you up for the Victoria's Got Talent Auditions so we don't need to deal with Lana." A shrug. "Thank the goddesses for Cygnus Knight connections."

Tear scrambles. "B-But, I didn't even have a concert back in Nova! And Victoria's Got Talent? Oh Saber, that's too many people and the people who are really good are, like, _really _good." Squirming and fluttering her wings nervously. "I don't think I can – "

Lilin taps the clipboard on the dracanic's head. "No complaints! Stick to the schedule and you shouldn't worry. I mean come on, you sing along to the stupid pony songs – it shouldn't be _that _hard." Unlike Tear, Aran is quite relieved for the dracanic. Becoming a celebrity, gain popularity for herself and for Grandis – Angelic Buster will become the gateway for the world of dragons and, overall, it isn't quite bad.

"Also, you're going to develop a signature style. I suggest doing a satire since you're so overly cliché with your magical girl heroine persona that it'll work." Then Lilin rips out a page from her clipboard and hands it to the Novan. "This is your diet plan. You better follow it."

Diet plan? Grimacing, the warrior rubs her stomach in memory. It's official. Like Aran, Tear is better off sent to the moon.

Lilin suddenly produces a video camera and tosses it to Tear. "You're also going to fight monsters but you have to start videotaping yourself. I'll force Neinheart to get me connected to some professional video editors so we can launch you into stardom with the whole magical-girl-heroine-singer-thing immediately after the auditions."

Pumping her fist, eyes shining like moon rocks, the blunette declares, "Aran, your goal is to finish the demon investigation quest by the end of this month! Angelic Buster! Your goal is to bring back at least two million mesos!"

Dumbfounded, Aran squawks but that's not the horror, the horror is what comes after and Lilin punctuates with a singsong voice, the menacing tone hiding beneath like a snake under a flower. "If any of you don't complete your quest, I'll throw you into the Subway Jump of Hell. You won't be able to leave until you find that blonde's cash."

Absolutely speechless, the warrior stares at Lilin while the video camera in Angelic Buster's hands tremble in increasing anxiety, and to end it off Eskalade booms, "THIS GIRL. THIS _GIRL. _I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I SAID – LET'S GET YOU FAMOUS, BABY ANGEL! GET THE BEST OF TWO WORLDS!" When Tear grabs her knees and starts rocking back and forth, Eskalade snorts. "Hey come on don't look so down. Think about it, if you become a millionaire WE CAN BUY ALL THE FLUTTERSHY DOLLS YOU WANT!"

* * *

Edelstein smells like oil and rust with something sweet that Mercedes can't put her finger on. Wafts around her immediately when the blimp lands, skin dry from the immediate change in humidity and temperature. A little more heat. A little less moisture. She combs her hair to untangle the blond strands from the windy travel as Ace begins shutting off the engine.

The airport in this country is as empty as its corresponding dock in Victoria Island: steel platforms and staircases leading to a freedom the people can't afford. If the area isn't partially open, the gears and belts, grey cobblestone ground that lead to the exit would gather dust instead of the cleanliness that suggests novelty it wears.

The only things worn, the archer notices with sharp, narrowed eyes, are the three posters that are taped sloppily on the side of the long wall to the way out of the airport and to the town: the boarding and departure schedule of Ace's blimp, a piece of paper that states the latest tax law upon traveling from Council President Anthony, and finally a poster that welcomes travelers to Edelstein – though the iconic brown and gold symbol of the first industrialized town in the world is stamped in red with a block sign on the center of the gear where a diamond shaped screw should be. Below it, another paper attached to its edges: Black Wings Territory.

The surge of violent rage bursts through her again, nearly topples her in its power and she widens her eyes. They hide nothing, absolutely nothing, the sheer arrogance is astonishing that she almost lets out a hysterical laugh.

It's a taunt to the entire world – "This town belongs to the Black Mage."

And there is nothing anyone can do to change that.

The blimp settles. Ace says in a mock cheery voice, "Welcome to the temporary airport of Edelstein! All hotels except one is open and a room for a night there is five thousand mesos." Snapping the band of his goggles on the back of his head, he mutters," Hope you got relatives to take back to Vict." Doesn't think she could hear him with his voice that quiet except the Elvin Queen picks it up all the same.

Mercedes says a simple thank you for the trip and leaves the airport.

Overall the air is crisp because of the acorn trees on every square plot, but occasionally a car passes her, releasing the obnoxious black fumes into her face like the breath of an unwanted, preying drunkard and she loves nothing more than to accomplish her task and return for Elluel. Expensive, those mechanical banes, yet they seem commonplace in this town. Mercedes stays on the safe side of the sidewalk, keeping close to the brick buildings in case a dotard makes an error and crashes into her. Has not the faintest idea to find the Verne Mines and the wires that pierce across above her head like nets are clearly no guiding stars.

The town is peaceful. For Black Wings territory, there isn't any visible chaos or oppression she has seen yet. But there's a thick, undeniable hush that weighs on top of the town despite the few pedestrians that amiably walk to the open markets; every click Mercedes' shoes make across the grey brick road bounces continuously without her. Long pointed ears pick up frivolities, the few people outside chatting about the day's weather and oh, how is your family doing, are they doing fine? That must be nice. The light, polite courtesies deepen the already disturbing tension seeping into Mercedes's bones.

The buildings on her side are all residential houses and apartments, the markets are on the other – and most seem new, Mercedes catches, comparing the great differences in wear of the older and newer buildings. She looks side to side in case a car is coming before walking across briskly. A hunched over man stands next to piles of boxes with their lids gone to reveal a plethora of colorful potion bottles between a barber shop and a weapons store. He's talking to a customer who leaves with a box of dozen bottles of water just when the archer arrives. "Evening seller, this humble stranger doth not know this town, yet must reach to the Verne Mines. Can you tell me the way?"

Off-guard, the elderly shopkeeper coughs into the hand that holds his cane but Mercedes can hear the grumble – "Another weird talking whippersnapper" before he glances up with squinty eyes that looks even smaller with his bald head and scrawny limbs. "Why do you want to know?"

So used to have her inquiries answered in a heartbeat that her blood twitches in warning but Mercedes stays composed, calmly answers back," I have business with the Black Wings."

The shopkeeper freezes. Scrutinizes into Mercedes' lake blue eyes as if to search for a cryptic clue that she wouldn't offer even if he asks, the elves keep to their own businesses and if the human puts his nose in places he don't belong then Mercedes will leave. Except the shopkeeper takes off his bowler hat, bats it across the air to beat out invisible dust, and says quietly," Whatever shady deal the Black Wings made with you, you better call it off. It's not worth it."

Surprised, Mercedes opens her mouth to ask more but the shopkeeper continues on, eyes back and forth from his store to see if someone's eavesdropping. "If the Black Wings offering you something, they're going to cheat you. If they took something from you, they won't give it back."

A beast's claws grab and rattle the cages bars. Mercedes feels she's about to burst, ready to shake the man by his bony shoulders where the Verne Mines are – she'll take back the child no matter the consequence, she's gone through war she can go into another one again! – but a profound _whack _followed by a cry of pain rips across the air, echoes where she and the shopkeeper is, and the archer is hurry to take advantage of the distraction before the rage overcomes her. Leaves a small 'excuse me' and goes.

The next two blocks are a colorful blur, Mercedes flying down the streets so fast that her blonde hair appears as the pale flare of the sun, scorching the sky with its speed. Forces herself to go to an abrupt stop and bends over, hands over her knees to restrain her because - calm down. Calm down. She _needs _to calm down. Temper temper temper – _why is she so angry these days _–

There's the cacophony again. She glances up.

A few feet away from her in front of a, she grudgingly admits, a marvelous white brick building with cone heads and pillars to support its weight. Its face is a giant clock, the gears whirring and working without care to the activity in front of its front grey steps where a group of men in black uniforms surround a bear, holding floating, colored balls by their stringed tails.

The men outnumbering the bear make no attempt to hide their bullying. Shouting at the bear, demanding it to take off its mask and Mercedes finally allows herself the significantly human gesture of an eye roll this time because, really, what mask? Are humans today still so oblivious and unaware as their predecessors, dogmatically believing that anyone that doesn't share their features a changed being?

Then one of the men kicks the anthromorphic bear that Mercedes gasps, surveys around her and no, no one is helping the poor bear, the few people walking in the streets are adamantly not looking at the open injustice. Confused, Mercedes steps a little closer, watches a little longer, wants to make sure if the violence is justified. It makes no sense, why would anyone, even a person from the Black Wings, attack a Ludian shamelessly, especially in a town outside of Ludibrium? Do those fools desire war?!

"Fucking hell, we're not dumbasses!" one of the men snarls, kicking the bear again, who's silent as he curls up on the ground. The floating colored orbs have already flown away. With another kick, the man spits," Why the fuck are you always in a costume, huh? You're one of them 'Resistance' bastards, aren't ya? Always hiding like a bunch of cowards."

"I said it once and I'll say it a thousand times," the bear replies with an unbroken voice but Mercedes picks up the strain underneath. "There are only hopes and dreams in this body! Your accusations are baseless!"

"'Hopes and dreams?'" another man repeats scoffing at the end. "Even for a mascot that is lame."

"Maybe he's just ugly as hell," one sneers. "Can't talk to anyone without something covering up his head without them screaming and running!"

The fourth snorts. "Well no shit. Can't get a girl, needs to get laid by giving candy and balloons to cute little kids, am I right?" The others roar in laughter and disbelief, slapping the man's back in rotten camaraderie and Mercedes doesn't know whether to make her hands into fists or use them to rub the side of her arms, the crudity of all feels like a layer of dirt plaguing her flesh. She watches the man grab the bear's head between the round brown ears, fingers clawing in the cotton flesh like a vise, and pulls the Ludian up to eye view. "Resistance or not, we should lock you in so a pedo like you won't be a hazard to Edelstein's precious fu – "

He doesn't finish and never will because Mercedes is there, clutches the thick wrist away from the bear's head and pulls it backward, revels in the feel of the bone splintering beneath the muscle of a man who can't even twitch, standing numb for a few seconds until he gives a wrenching cry. Mercedes is quicker than pain.

The other three men are slow to react and whatever training the Black Wings have given them it could never compare centuries of battle wired in the slender frame that is the Elvin Queen, no matter she was in ice.

His snapped wrist is still in her hand and she pulls it to the side so that he falls diagonally down, and with her other hand, palm flat, she swings that arm to collide the side of the man's neck, the speed making up any lack of strength she used to have. Not dead but undoubtedly knocked out, yet the other three are gasping in horror over the fallen body. Three is too much, Mercedes jumps into the air, twirls into a somersault to aim a white heel into the face of the man in the middle, and digs it in when she lands onto him as he falls on his back backwards.

He shall be half blind and neither potion nor technology will recover the lost sight.

He's still awake though, grabbing towards his bloody face when her boot leaves him – grubby, dirty hands dabbing just the corners of the mangled damage and Mercedes briefly wonders whether it's worth letting him live or not. Will a war be ignited over the loss of one insignificant human's life? But then again there's a Ludian here and Ludibrium's King is impulsive and capricious no matter the century, though the bear is staring in awe of her, doesn't seem to be _that _bothered by the profuse amount of blood leaving the bleeding, sobbing human.

Mercedes draws out a bowgun and aims for the man's heart. "To side with the ravenous darkness that once nearly devoured this world, mercy blesses you for another day." A single, mana arrow later, the man falls silent.

The remaining two men stagger back in horror but she only used stun arrows so far and the death toll stays zero. So butch, so domineering earlier, she half expects the feeble bugs to call up whatever meager amounts of bravery that remains in them and attack her, but apparently one of them is quite smart; he's tugging the other's arm, urging, "shit, we need to report back – " and no, Mercedes can't have that.

This isn't a battle _it's too easy to be one_ and so Mercedes takes out the other bowgun latched onto her hip, preps the mana arrows on both to make shape and the archer is close enough to stretch her arms for the heads of the arrows to poke their chests. They both still. Their chests are heaving, sweat is rolling down their faces in waves, waiting and waiting but it's faithless fear. Mercedes won't kill them.

The archer queen smiles. "Do not flee. I am a stranger to this town and I need a guide. As members of the Black Wings, you will perform splendidly."

"P-please, "the one on the right stammers like a pig in shackles, forced by the neck to lie down on the slaughter table. "We're nobodies, just watchmen! We don't know anything about the higher ranks!"

"You're fucked, cunt!" the second one on the left – _the stupider one_ - roars. "We're the Black Wings and we _own _this town - you can't walk in and do whatever the fuck you like, fucking stupid bitch – "

Whacks his head with the blunt side of a bowgun, his forehead bleeds and when he looks up through red eyes in disbelief the ruthless archer clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "Back to what I was saying, your task is simple. You must know where the Verne Mines are and you shall lead me to them."

When no one speaks, she flicks her wrist, discharges an arrow a centimeter from the side of a watchman's head, whose trembles could have easily killed him just now. "It would be wise to offer thy services. If not then…" Trails off suggestively, taking an exaggerated moment to be quiet as if to consider her options because it's the silence that breaks them.

And it does, the first watchman bursts. "W-we know where the mines are!"

He gets smacked by his equally unfortunate comrade, who hisses," Are you nuts!? You're going to betray the Wings?"

"Idiot, I signed up to get paid, not to get killed by a crazy chick with freak ears!"

"And we'll be slaughtered if we bring her to the mines anyway you dumb shit!" Realizing his fate, the watchman goes to his knees, pale sweating hands taking off his black cap and pulling his hair. "We're dead, we're so dead…"

The same tedious old song, the pleading and the cursing fall to pointed, bored ears. Mercedes looks around, sees that people aren't ignoring them anymore. They're not coming any close, merely standing where they are and it shows how much this town has gone through, for the people to simply stand and watch with no surprise, only bothering to do so because it's a different person this time. Can't easily read the Ludian nursing his wounds by her foot, it's difficult to distinguish emotions from toy people. The archer looks back at the watchmen who are still blubbering, hints of tears and snot in the corner of their orifices, evidence of crying or going to cry.

Mercedes wrinkles her nose. Humans contain so much water.

She stomps on the kneeling watchman's red face, twisting her heel into the man's cheek, effectively shutting both men up in their panic. She's becoming increasingly irate. "I am not here to waste time listening to your final prayers, worm snogging human. Your masters have kidnapped a child of mine and if none of you take me to the mines…" she brings her face close so he can see her eyes, no god of his can save him from them. "_You will wish you were dead_."

"Outskirts of th-the town there's a road, keep going down the road and there's a gondola that goes to the m-mountains." It comes in an animated ramble from the first watchman, hasn't stooped as pathetic as his companion. "The mines are at the mountains I swear, I-I can even take you there to show I'm not lying just please, please…!"

Mercedes stares at him long and hard. Then," Perfect. I have something to discuss with the Ludian you and your comrades have attacked." She glares. "Both of you stay where you are. If you move so much an inch, I will not hesitate to puncture your body with a storm."

Before the archer bends down to meet the anthromorphic bear in eye level, Mercedes doesn't wait for the watchmen to do anything, automatically shoots a stunning mana arrow at one. A warning for the other. Guiding does not require two anile humans. The watchman who's still awake yelps.

The Ludian isn't as shocked at the violence as she expects and that speaks volumes about this town, that its entire body is bathed in slashed blood that it soaks into the bone. A child birthed in war. And when the bear says," Thank you, but you didn't need to," Mercedes sighs because he means it, it's genuine, but no one can mistake the world weary tone that shouldn't belong to any happy Ludian. What sensible toy man would leave his homeland, less alone travel to Edelstein of all places?

"It is a bold error to come to Edelstein without an escort, dear Ludian. It makes you an open target." She pushes the fallen strands of her blonde hair behind her ear. "Forgive me for any offense, but thine plush body will tear into two if thou stays longer outside of thine realm." Taboo to attack the renowned compassionate and innocent Ludians without reason but that won't stop the Black Wings from playing with every bear trap that goes in their way, especially with the thick skulled recruits they have." Heed my humble advice and return to Ludibrium."

_Make haste, lest the child-hearted court root fangs of toy Trojans into Edelstein's crimson flag._

The bear's cotton fur rises as if a wave of electricity flowed over. For a person with actual beads for eyes they are quite expressive. Dazed, the bear whispers," Wait, what did you say?" He picks on the blue bow around his neck, looks at the fear frozen watchman who is determined not to look at Mercedes, and leans in closer to the elf archer. "I…what?"

Now it's Mercedes turn to be taken aback, brows furrowing as she asks," Art thou not a Ludian?" She can't be wrong with this, she visited Ludibrium's court so much before, met Lord Huggins of the Noble Teddy line every time that every stitched line is firmly stamped into her mind and this anthromorphic bear may not be nobility but he _must _be a Ludian.

She can't sense anything human with this creature.

"Let's start over. I'm Checky, Edelstein's favorite mascot," the bear responds, standing up and brushing off the dirt on his fur. "And I'm not…I don't…" Stuffed arms go up in the air. "Ugh! What the heck am I supposed to say in this?!"

And all Mercedes can do is stare in disbelief. But is it truly disbelief when a part of her expects the disappointment? So. Maybe she's wrong. Maybe he's not a Ludian. Or maybe he is and not at the same time, and all reason leaves her even though the archer is grasping for an explanation, drops it when it's all futile because it _is_ futile. Why is she trying so hard to restore the faded ink of an old book which binds have torn beyond recognition?

She's a queen. She has her people to look over, and if she's so desperate to keep the past then she's best off being a librarian. It's how this world is, no use for outdated encyclopedias worth of years of obsolete knowledge. She know more than anyone else that the times have changed even the supposedly timeless land of Ludibrium_ - -_

"I apologize," she says finally. Simply. She feels simple. "I meant to do as little bloodshed as possible around thee, but the circumstances are dire." Priorities, the elf child is still held captive in the mines, if Moony is even there at all. Should be more concerned for him than this stranger.

_What are you doing?_

Facing away from Checky, Mercedes drags her tired eyes to the anxious watchman and demands, "Take me to the mines."

* * *

Covered in more layers than Aran ever needed to wear, Tear looks like a puffy green marshmallow like the first sprout of life after the continuous snowing of a long, white winter. Her horns poke out two mini hills on her pink beanie, but her wings are small enough to be tucked inside her sweater. The little Novan barely waddles upright when Lilin shoves the two out of the door with stamina thermoses in their hands. Rien is having a warm day, with the sun shining so bright that the sheets of snow reflect it like a giant mirror splayed over the earth. Still Tear sneezes, her dark mittens coming up to her mouth to breathe hot air into it.

"Y'know, I've noticed it ever since we came here," says Eskalade once as Aran readjusts the compressed backpack over her shoulders. At Tear's head tilt the dragon explains," There's something weird happening over the buildings there." Uses his talon to direct Aran's gaze, pointing at the center of the village and the glaive user smiles in understanding, mentally bonks herself for nearly forgetting. "Not as powerful as me, but pretty close. Would have checked it out when we first came, but I'm tethered down by a certainlazy butt."

As Tear blows up her cheeks, Aran exclaims, "You mean Maha!" Excited because the weapon specter must have not seen dragons for such a long time and now there's a spirit of one here in Rien of all places. Receiving questioning looks, she explains," You'll understand when you see him first."

It's a short stroll but Aran walks a bit faster, eager, while Tear struggles to awkwardly balance in her metal snow boots – snow boots Neinheart bought for Lilin that the blunette never wore because they were too big. As Tear shouts back at a snickering Eskalade at every rock that causes her to waver sideways, Aran dashes pass a few penguins drinking coffee on a rickety bench, all of them greet her with beaked smiles. She hasn't seen Maha for days and he likely expects her to have memories from one of the million battles her body remembers that she can't, battles she loved that she doesn't know why, but hey, she's bringing a dragon spirit from another dimension and who wouldn't be excited to see that?

She arrives to the center of the town, looks up to see Maha's spirit floating next to the giant pole-arm with a handle stuck in a block of ice.

Instead she sees Maha's golden face directly in front of hers, brows furrowed into an obtuse V. Not pleased. "What's up moron master? You've been in Rien for a while and didn't even come see me." Ah, that's very true but the warrior has a very good reason. "And what's up with the blue powerhouse hanging next to Lilin's house?" The spirit stops short, bends a bit forward, looking at something above Aran's shoulder and when she turns she grins because the very good reason is here.

"Oh," says Maha expressionlessly. "It was a dragon. You brought a dragon to Rien. How did you go off searching for _demons_ and get a dead _dragon_?"

"You're not surprised to see Eskalade."

And not interested either. With a half bored, half intrigued countenance, he crosses his arms as if seeing dragons in Rien is part of his daily majestic routine and an irritating one at that. "Afrien was bigger." If memory serves correct then yes. Yes he was. "And alive. I'd be more surprised if this guy had a beating heart and managed to survive in Rien for even an hour. There's a reason why dragons stay in Minar."

"Well _this _dragon is a warrior god from another dimension," Eskalade announces when he lands, full body resting on his hind legs. Unfolding his wings, he straightens his back so that his height competes against Maha's physical form, chin cocked condescendingly upwards. Macho. Cerulean eyes give a deliberate one over at the pole arm and the much smaller spirit that possesses it until the dragon huffs. "What in the blazes is so special about you, huh? A tourist attraction? Mr. Shiny?"

Aran chokes. Because Eskalade is correct, Maha _is _a tourist attraction, the number one reason why any traveler who isn't out to fight Aran bothers to come to Rien nowadays. Anyone who wants to see penguins heads to El Nath.

The spirit drops his jaws in betrayal towards Aran's direction and the warrior can't help it. She guffaws. She bends over with her hands on her knees because Maha looks so _offended_.

"T-The greatest weapon in the world…!" Aran quips between bouts of laughter. "Mr. Sh-Shiny!"

Then she falls over with her face splat on the snow. For a moment she thinks that Maha actually managed to become physical once just to push her except that's impossible no matter what. And the body on her cape rolls off with a familiar, high pitched apology before a distracted, "Oooh, so that's what you meant back inside the tree."

Tear hurries to pull Aran help up, little dark mittens quick to brush off the snow on the warrior's face. Spring green eyes look straight at Maha, who startles back a bit, the golden aura he carries wavers like a stone's skip across a calm stream. "Wow. He's really shiny."

"What the – Aran, who's pipsqueak number two and how can she see me?"

"Pipsqueak number one being Lilin," Aran inserts helpfully in Tear's ear, who pouts nonetheless. She puts her hands on her hips and reminds, "I can see you and Lilin can see a vague shape of you. It shouldn't be surprising if others can see you too." Though rare it is.

The weapon ghost looks at Aran as if she's grown a second head. "Yeah, but you're - !" He chokes, as if a lasso swings around his neck and pulled tight at the moment of capture, eyes wide with an indescribable emotion. Swallowing, he says quietly, "You're...you. You're Aran."

Aran doesn't know what that means. Only that it isn't what he really wanted to say but she can't say anything because Maha jumps, his aura flickering like an old light bulb. The spirit flips around to see his weapon form being poked and prodded by Tear and Eskalade, but it's Eskalade's talon tapping the red jade on the blade that has Maha flying back to float in between, shouting, "WILL YOU STOP!? I CAN FEEL THAT! IT'S FREAKING CREEPY WITH YOU!"

"Saber, you're dead and you can feel?!" Tear runs across the platform she climbed on to touch Maha to get closer to the golden spirit. Pulling back her sleeve to reveal the Soul Ring, she says, "You need to tell me how I can hit this perverted dragon. I tried slapping this thing and it doesn't hurt him!" Then with a blush, she adds sweetly, "Please?"

Maha stays speechless for a whole minute before the glaive user finally steps forward to summarize the situation, at least for the spirit to do anything than just stare dumbly at the sudden company that practically popped into their world like daisies. The more she speaks, the more power she needs to summon to hold down the laughter bubbling up, Maha appearing increasingly distressed and it's understandable; the story is, in all definitions, quite outrageous.

Even Eskalade quips," Huh, this is pretty ridiculous now that you say it." He snorts. "Gods turning evil and taking over the world, and interdimensional travel. It sounds like a convoluted tale produced by a group of amateur authors trying to make an epic of all epics, failed it, and decided to toss a bunch of cool things on a wall and see if it sticks."

Nothing can be more accurate than that statement and Aran grins up to Eskalade, only to realize that the sun has gained inches across the sky and they haven't even been off to Victoria Island yet. And if Lilin comes to town and sees them, hell will rise for the wasted time.

Dead coldness breathes over her back, penetrates through her fur edged cape in a way Rien's blizzard can never achieve. Maha is pushing her in his own ghostly way. "Alright, moron master. Time to get some work done. If you keep on slacking, how would you ever wield me again?" Grimaces towards Eskalade and Tear. "You guys are as weird as Aran is – even before she lost her memories. But…" The grimace shifts into a slight smile, though a tad uncomfortable. "Nothing's wrong with that. It's interesting. To have someone who can sense me clearly besides my master."

"At least you're not tethered down by an idiot." Eskalade receives a fierce glare from puffy mushroom Tear. "What? You've got a killer body and you don't bother to show it off. You're a flipping idiot."

The Novan throws her arms in the air. "I am so done with you." Stomps away, making deep holes through the blanket of snow though Aran is proud to see the younger girl has gotten much more used to it. Eskalade shrugs and mutters a good-bye before forcibly pulled away to follow the Soul Ring, towards the direction of Rien's port. Aran does the same and hurries to catch up.

Tear is already midway down on the path, the shadows of the trees that stand by the sides like great arches casting dark blue shadows over her. But Aran speeds up enough to be right below Eskalade's floating body, the dragon spirit's great belly the first thing she sees when her head tilts up. "What do you think of Maha so far? He usually acts much more childish than today. Today he's a bit quiet. It is probably because of you and Tear." Because he can't possibly be used to anyone seeing him and hearing him and talking to him and Aran is smiling stupidly again, so relieved. There's other people Maha can interact with, help stretch his limited world a little bigger. Way out of his comfort zone, but it's a good one. It has to be.

But Eskalade doesn't respond. Eskalade stays in the comfortable silence under the darkness of the forest until they both reach the end of the road, the great mouth opening up to the wooden port under the deep blue sky. It will be a smooth sail to Victoria Island.

Tear is standing next to Puro who sits on the edge, fishing, and when Tear turns around she waves for the dragon and warrior to come. That's when Eskalade voice finally booms above her," Is there something up with that guy?"

Aran blinks. "Puro?" There doesn't seem to be anything worrying the penguin. Dedicatedly waddling back and forth to release and tug the necessary ropes on the baby whale's back for the short journey.

"Maha. You're his master." Eskalade stops. A slow leer creeps into his snout. "Out of context that's pretty kinky." To the side he grumbles, "lucky bastard, got a half-naked, tanned warrior chick in garterbelts too," but Aran can hear him nevertheless and the warrior groans, long used to the perverted comments but it never _was_ and never _will _be amusing.

And no, she refuses to lose to Eskalade and wear more conservatively, even if it'd be entertaining to see if the dragon cries. Same armor asleep, same armor awake; until she figures out what the hell she was thinking for wearing something that can easily kill her in any proper battle.

The ultramarine dragon silently snickers at her embarrassment, which gradually trails off into a frown. Or something akin to a frown with the limited emotions the dragon can express with his lizardian face. "But going back to the point, you've obviously been with him much longer than anyone else. Don't you feel something, y'know, _off_ with him?"

_This is new._ "I don't." Is it serious? Is there something the warrior has missed in all her times being with Maha? Aran scratches through her memories, but Maha doesn't seem any different from the first time she has seen him. A golden spirit and a loyal friend, devoted to a shell of a person to see that shell return to her 'former glory again' as Maha resolved once.

Eskalade's wispy body plunges into the water next to the prepared whale without a splash. When his head pops out, he says," Don't worry about it. I haven't seen a spirit from Maple World so I may be seeing differences that naturally should be there." Then dips hid head under the surface again.

Aran nods, watches the spot where Eskalade's head was even though trying to find a flux of white bubbles is useless.

And Eskalade watches from below the water the snow haired warrior joining his little chosen one in conversation, out of habit to try looking up under Angelic Buster's skirt. Except it's boring old Tear in boring thick padded pants, and Aran has a skin tight skort – hence the connection of the garterbelts – so it's equally useless trying to find panties but eh. A dragon warrior god can try.

And even if there's underwear for him to look at, Eskalade submits that he won't really be in the mood to see them, which is dumb because why in the blazes should he think anything's wrong?

He huffs his chest. So what if there's something fishy about Maha's energy? It probably _is_ a Maple thing. And speaking about fish, there's a lot more colorful fish for Eskalade to fruitlessly gobble through until they finally reach the mainland.

* * *

When the watchman stutters out why she's standing still, Mercedes makes a motion with her hand for silence. From the way to Edelstein to the gondola is a lengthy walk through Edelstein's Park, practically a never ending concrete road seeing that _she _can't see the end of it on ground. This isn't Victoria Island, less alone Elluel, and interestingly, now that she ponders over it, she herself had visited the nation very few times. Never had the need to.

But certainly there _must_ be a faster way to reach the mines. It's awfully suspicious, _everything _concerning the Black Wings is suspicious, that the organization would openly conquer and oppress the town in every way just to dominate the rue stone supply. Provoke its residents to create a ragtag army, provoke the world to attract eyes to every move the nation makes, and especially provoke Mercedes to come greet them personally. Rash. Shortsighted. Such witlessness that it borders to consummate stupidity or a much greater scheme.

Why are they so eager to be targeted?

But seeing that the watchman shifts awkwardly in place, far from desiring to lead the archer queen to his superiors, clearly he has no darker plan to guide her into a trap. Skinny and gangly. Tall but not an adult, with an oily face littered with red bumps common in human adolescents. Young. Far younger than the three men he was with back in town.

If the Black Wings are ready to recruit inexperienced children then perhaps she's overestimating their abilities. After all, anyone who knows her as the letter suggests and still dares to cross her voluntarily is no candle.

"Continue," she commands and the watchman nods, keeps walking forward to the faraway dusty mountains that she had flown earlier on the blimp. There are always strings of black smoke stemming and expanding like thinned dark clouds. They curl around the mountains and if Mercedes create an image it resembles a weyr of dark dragons taking flight.

_Moony. The child. I'm here for the child._

Bites her lips and digs her fingernails into her forearm. Asks herself a thousand questions, answers them as the queen of elves should, as any proper monarch should. Priorities, priorities, let the dead take care of the dead, let the past bury the past. Inhales through her nose, exhales with her mouth. Hates that she's lacking so much discipline over herself.

It's his fault. Curse the dragon master to make her more human than elf.

She slows down. There's something in the air, something intimately and uncomfortably familiar, that her blood rises to the skin because of her erratic heart. A wind that doesn't blow. A shadow that doesn't stay. Alert, Mercedes fingers the bowguns by her hips, surveys the area again. Lake blue eyes dart to the back, to the left, to the right, and above. Cautious white heels click the concrete as softly as possible. There is something here. She doesn't know what it is yet but she unhooks her weapons and swiftly equips them on. A warning to whoever is watching her right now.

The young watchman turns around from the lack of sound, scratching through his thin hair grumbling to himself of life choices that no one can care less about when the wind whistles – in front of her but behind the boy and she reaches her arm out, yelling, "Dodge!"

Too late, the watchman's head is smacked to the side, Mercedes can practically _hear_ the brain crashing into the inner wall of the skull. Moist, large eyes stare blankly through the archer until they roll backwards as the body falls forward, the side of the face kisses the ground and stays there. He will not be awake for a long time. The bowguns are raised in front of her before she takes a good look at her unwelcome visitor's face and when she does she can't help the smirk because now it makes sense. It all makes sense.

"Phantom's dramatic rescue of Ereve's empress from dethronement was all over the newspapers. Unfortunately there was no picture to prove it, but that is to be expected with the 'world's greatest thief.'" His skin, like before, is so pale that it can be mistaken for grey, a walking corpse. "But it was not impossible. If I survived through the centuries trapped in an overlarge egg, then it's fairly no surprise if the heroes managed similarly." Long maroon hair, but when it hangs behind him, the shadows make it look like dried blood. "However, I have not expected to encounter you again in Edelstein among all places."

Mercedes matches the cool, blood red eyes of the Black Mage's most powerful and dedicated commander. Once titled the Layer of Tragedies because everywhere he was commanded to go he laid waste to villages, consumed the sheer magnitude of negativity to magnify negativity again and again, carrying a death toll record that deserved immense notoriety. People learned to fear not only him but also any other demon.

The Elvin Queen cocks her chin up as if the demon energy may shy away if she stares down its owner.

"It has been a long time Mercedes, Queen of the Elves." He politely bows his head but only low enough that his eyes never leave her trigger fingers and Mercedes can't help the scoff because he still has his scepter in his hand. Brimming with demonic energy and ready to fire.

"Indeed," Mercedes replies with a cold smile. "It has been, Demon Slayer."

* * *

A/N: I will be entering college soon…which means updates will occur far less than I want them to. But I am **determined** to finish this story within my lifetime. All three parts of it.

Even though I have the sinking feeling that I may or may not die before I finish it.

Major NPCs in this chapter (because I alluded many):

1) Ace the Pilot is a pilot who rides the blimp that takes players from Victoria Island to Edelstein.

2) Surl is an old shopkeeper and the richest man in Edelstein because he sells water, which is becoming valuable since Edelstein is undergoing a drought. He works with the Resistance.

3) Checky is Edelstein's mascot who gives balloons to little kids and provides 'hopes and dreams.' Now people in-game believes that Checky is a stubborn guy in a bear costume, but the interesting fact is that there's really nothing underneath. He's actually an anthromorphic bear who happens to look like a toy bear. I had a theory that he may be from Ludibrium and tossed that in. He is also the Mechanic Instructor for the Resistance.

Thank you for reading.


	8. Author's Note Godammit Why

**Author's Note (8-6-2013):**

I am in a dilemma.

Dear readers, it has probably have dawned to you how big "Gnossienne" really is. How complicated it was going to be. And that's exactly it - "Gnossienne" is a fanfiction epic. I have an outline for all three parts. I've got basic character studies with bullet points for each character column. I have a list of the twists, of the subplots, of which parts of the stories I invested emotionally in and thus have created rough drafts for in-depth stories of them for another story such as "A Martyr for a Riddle" which is to be completed by the end of Part 1 of Gnossienne, and "Beating Cadaver," which is to be completed by Part 2 of "Gnossienne."

The only issues I had with the story was how long it was going to be and that Nexon has this little, frustrating thing of making updates and retconning some parts of Maplestory's storyline. But I was okay. I can incorporate. I can mend around the damage. I can ignore some. _I can make it work._

But then...then Nexon had released the "White Mage" promotion and revealed a sprite of the Black Mage before he turned evil. It was shocking. Why? Because that was the twist for Part 3 in my story. A major plot point for Luminous's perspective. In Part fucking 3. My theory for Luminous and the Black Mage...done. Already done.

And then this question really dawned to me: "What if Nexon updated Maplestory and reveals a story before I write it? What if my future fanfiction has already become part of the canon story?"

Then my stories are no longer unique. They no longer matter. They are no longer fanfiction and thus have no meaning. _Because they have already been done in the actual game._

It really sucks because I was so damn prepared to make it work. So prepared to write a story based on (and yet not really) Maplestory, a constantly updating game of patches with its original plot despite the changes.

I don't know whether to laugh or be upset since Nexon is making updates that I have predicted and theorized and was going to incorporate into my story. I'm going to go with upset. Because "Gnossienne" was going to have a lot of twists. It would have subplots, important events, and it was going to be such a big thing. And this update has made me realize that...that most of the chapters that I have in my head and written in rough drafts in my computer...may be in the game.

So right now...I don't know about Gnossienne's future right now. Right now I'm just...I don't know. I really don't know.

There may be a possibility that I'll end Gnossienne right there. Toss in my rough outline of the three parts of Gnossienne with all the supposed subplots and twists and whatever because I don't want it to sit in my hard drive without seeing the light of the internet screen. And then finish my other stories that were supposed to be completed in a specific time.

Or continue this fatass baby while giving a middle finger to Nexon for the hell of it, even though Nexon is doing nothing wrong. Just updating the canon story...

_..._

_..._

_..._

_...I really wanted to make this work but I really don't know..._


End file.
